Getting There
by gammameta
Summary: Post x2, unhurried RL shipper fic. Classic 'Getting There' story. FINISHED! Yay! They finally got there.
1. Touch

**I: TOUCH**

When she learned how to get over Jean's death, she learned how to control her skin.

She'd been in session with the Professor, trying to lock up a few of her memories, 'like a locked box in the back of a closet,' he'd said, and she'd suddenly just known, known, how to turn her skin off.

She couldn't believe, really, that she'd hesitated, but she did. She'd opened her eyes and asked the Professor, 'If I—If I can turn off my skin,…should I?'

He'd seemed surprised, wanted to know more, but she didn't know how to describe it. So he'd told her that, yes, if she thought she could turn off her skin, he wanted her to try.

So she had, and she'd experienced something, a feeling, or more the lack of a feeling. Something, perhaps nothing? She'd raced one hand over her arm to feel the skin, press it, scrape it a bit with her nails to establish that, yes, she could still feel. She just couldn't feel…

And she'd freaked out about it so badly, she'd flipped her skin back on. With a rush, she felt the difference, a buzz, a hyper-sensitivity, a surge of power that felt normal and good and comfortable, and she shuddered, opening her eyes.

She'd lied to the Professor, said that she couldn't do it right now. And he'd nodded: do whatever felt right, and keep him apprised of further developments.

She'd spent the rest of the day compulsively turning it on and off. On. Off. On…Off. 'Till she could feel the flicker and the surge, could identify the instant before she lost it and the difference when it swooshed back again.

And she hadn't been able to stop looking at her skin, her hands, her arms, her legs, her toes, her stomach, seeing how the different feel of it still looked the same.

Laying in bed that night, flicking it on and off as she stroked her skin, she just had to know. If she could touch now. If this was off. She found Kitty and Bobby in Jubilee's room, and she'd thrown open the door, shut it conspiratorially, and whispered low, no preamble, 'I think I can turn off my skin.'

Bobby had looked really shocked, and Kitty had gasped. Jubes had just cocked her head. Rogue had taken a deeper breath, 'But I don't know for sure.' And she halted there, having exhausted all her courage, hoping that one of them would understand, perhaps, volunteer.

'I'll do it, chica,' Jubes responded, laying a hand on Rogue's gloved forearm.

'What!' Kitty shrieked, and Bobby protested. But Jubilee held Rogue's gaze until their bluster was over, and she repeated, 'If you want to check it out, you can touch me.'

Rogue swallowed and nodded and peeled off a glove.

She flicked a gaze to Jubilee's steady one, and swallowed. She didn't want any mistakes: she figured she'd never get the opportunity again, for one thing, and she feared almost more that she'd never want to try again, either. So, this was it. She closed her eyes, focused on the feeling… and turned her skin on…off. So she could be sure she could tell the difference. Off, this was off.

She opened her eyes, and Jubes laid her palm, face-up on the table.

'What? You can't let her!' Kitty protested, but the room was thrumming and still, as they all knew that Jubes would.

Rogue stretched out her hand, and slid the tips of her fingers onto to Jubes' palm slowly. She swallowed and hesitated, then deepened the pressure and breathed out a trembling breath. She glanced up. 'Congratulations, chica,' Jubes smiled softly.

Bobby reached out a hand then, and brushed the back of hers—'cool'—and withdrew it.

Rogue pulled back, and Kitty broke the growing silence. 'How long can you hold it for?'

Rogue's face lifted, but she was still unfocused, bemused, 'I don't know. I think as long as I want. Like a switch: on or off.'

Kitty looked at her hand a little uncertainly. 'Is it still off?' Rogue nodded. 'Can I…?' She nodded again, and Kitty darted over, danced over Rogue's skin, once, twice.

The group collectively swallowed, and Jubes relaxed in her chair. 'Well, if you know how to leave it off, chica, let's get you out of those layers.' Rogue hesitated, but Jubes persisted. 'Gloves first!'

Rogue watched her friends watch her, all of them waiting to see what she would do. She gingerly removed the other glove, and Jubes reached out and rubbed Rogue's hands.

'You've got cold hands, girl,' Jubes observed, buffing them up a bit. 'So, hey, we were playing poker before you so rudely interrupted us. Ay, Bobby! Deal her in!' she ordered.

So Bobby shuffled, and Rogue anted up, and Jubes swept the first few hands, as the rest were still too shocked to take her for the bluff. But Bobby, after some aspersions cast on his manhood, was soon provoked into earnestness, and Rogue and Kitty brought out their usual banter about how much they hated playing poker with the other two, and…somehow it was okay that Rogue felt the cards in her hands and gripped them with her bare fingers and brushed her friends' hands while sweeping in the pot.

It felt almost safe that first night, but the next day, she felt more dangerous with it off than on. She wanted to have to be careful. She wore her gloves still, around campus, and she checked to see if it was on several times a day – a quick off - ON- off.

Until Jubes grabbed her hands a few days later and coolly stripped her of the gloves, without even asking if it was safe. Whilst casually baiting Bobby. That angered her. And freaked her out. Danger wasn't forgetting. Danger was other people forgetting.

So she concentrated on making sure her skin was always off, instead of covered. She stopped wearing gloves and started carrying them.

And then one day, maybe four weeks later, she came back to her room at night and realized that she had forgotten them. That's when she finally began to believe.

It was strange, how long it took everyone to notice. At any other time, she supposed they would have noticed immediately. But the whole school was recovering from the school's invasion, from the pains of rebuilding, and, of course, Jean's death.

Rogue herself had nightmares left over from that time, angsty, guilty nightmares about how she could have acted in those awful last minutes at Alkali Lake, how she could have saved them if only she'd been brave enough, how they could have saved Jean.

Storm had been the one to notice, actually, that Rogue wasn't sleeping well, or much at all; so they had sent her to the Professor. Hence the sessions--Rogue had since declared herself cured and quit going. She knew there were more important things for everyone to be doing with their time.

But Rogue knew she hadn't been the worst affected. Storm had suffered the burden of playing 'Mother' to the hundred or so students at the school. The Professor had seemed distracted and withdrawn, his body seeming to shrink into his chair, and he was growing increasingly passive, increasingly defensive, increasingly isolated. That left Logan and Scott without an umpire, and they were…well, they were suffering and at each other's throats and looking mirror images of miserable at meal times.

Scott was unshaven, Scott. And he looked perpetually exhausted, strung out, and unwell. He picked fights with Logan. He yelled at his students. At night, he camped out in a chair in the lounge, and spent hours flicking through the four channels with a comatose gaze.

His face twitched whenever he saw Logan.

Logan had stayed, as in permanently. He'd been assigned teaching duties and everything, and he was even more of a tight ass than Scott had been in his hey day. Woe betide the student who didn't have all their i's dotted and t's crossed. And he picked fights with Scott right back. He stayed out all night and dragged himself in around four in the morning.

On the weekends, Logan'd head down to the tv lounge with a bottle of scotch, and he'd slam it onto the side table and throw a glass at Scott. 'You first,' he'd growl. They'd get absolutely pissed, first angry--at each other, at the scotch, at the tv, at themselves,--and then maudlin. Rogue had once seen Logan in drunken tears, sobbing nonsense to a bleary-eyed Scott who was hugging the empty bottle. She'd stopped coming downstairs after her nightmares.

So, yeah, Rogue didn't have too many problems. By comparison.

So she wasn't so surprised when no one seemed to notice that she went around without gloves, that she wore short sleeves sometimes. She never made it obvious, by wearing skirts or shorts or tank tops, even in the fine weather. She didn't really own such outfits anyway. But she did sometimes wonder a bit resentfully why they didn't want to take care for themselves when she was walking around ungloved. They were either way too trusting, or they had some kind of death wish—well, maybe they did.

They were graduating in July, she and Bobby and Kitty and Jubes, delayed due to recent events. No one told them anything about what was going to happen then. Like—where were they supposed to go? Did they leave, get jobs, get lives? Nothing was decided, but no one asked either. There was a complete and utter silence about the future.

Perhaps that explained why no one else discovered that Rogue could now control her skin, even though it was no secret. No one was talking, each group so isolated in their misery and uncertainty they didn't notice anyone else.

Something happened about two weeks before graduation – it was like the teachers at the school suddenly realized the semester was almost over, and everyone worked frantically to finish, to be over, with this awkwardly shitty time.

At least some questions were answered. With graduation in July and classes again in August, many returning students were just staying for the summer. Rogue and Kitty were both offered a faculty fellowship for the next year. Jubes turned one down to go to a community college nearby, but Xavier had offered her free room-and-board while she maintained a 3.0. Bobby had applied (and gotten into) SUNY; his parents agreed to pay, so long as he didn't come home. So…there was that.

But more than that, there was a massive effort on the part of everyone to just get over it, finish. Xavier made a host of decisions (the school bulletins grew 300 longer) about next year that really should have been finalized six months ago. Logan and Scott were too overworked to pick fights with each other, and the students stopped having nightmares and started having panic attacks.

And then finally, exhaustingly, it was here—the end!—though the effort required to make graduation into a huge party was just too much. Xavier and Storm just kind of told the students that they could use the cafeteria, and Jubes organized a potluck, so there was actually plenty of food.

And someone brought beer.

'To graduation!' Rogue crowed, for perhaps the 20th time, holding up her fifth beer, and clinking it noisily against those of her classmates. They all drank defiantly, and Rogue enjoyed the feeling of being tipsy and beyond her control, let alone anyone else's.

There were only about 30 in the graduating class, but they were making a hell of a racket anyhow. Rogue supposed that the teachers were letting them; Xavier and Ororo hadn't bothered to stay beyond the first 20 minutes. But then she saw Logan and Scott glance in, hover, at the doorway, with twin expressions of weariness.

Rogue cackled when it occurred to her that they weren't her teachers anymore; she threw an arm around Jubilee's neck and another around Bobby's waist. 'To the best year ever!' she toasted. She felt free—that's right, free! You aren't the boss of me, Mr. Scott and Logan! Mr. and Mrs. Scott and Logan! Hey, that was really—snort—funny!...Rogue wondered if she was saying this out loud.

Scott had seemed disinclined to interfere, but when he saw Logan advance, he moved to confiscate the remaining beer with a jaded disinterest. Rogue, clasping Bobby closer in outrage, started to protest, 'Hey--!'

But suddenly two strong arms untangled her from her friends, lifting her away, and she could hear Logan grate in her ear, 'Darlin'. Know it's a celebration an' all, but that could change right quick if you don't go cover up some. You're not being careful.' Rogue flailed in indignity. 'Where are your gloves?'

She jerked resentfully some more, and Jubilee and Bobby burst into laughter, even as Logan's grip tightened around her middle. Kitty giggled uproariously, and Bobby screeched, rather unflatteringly, 'You look so…so…stupid!' At which Jubilee and Kitty laughed even harder, until Kitty dropped her drink and started crying over it.

'No!' Rogue yelled, thrusting her lip out. She thrashed a bit, lashing out behind her impotently, and it took her a while to realize where she was being held. With great focus and some malice, she reached for Logan's hands around her waist and tried to unclasp them.

He was quick (ok, maybe she was slow), hiking her up by one arm for a bit, and flipping her shirt over his bare hand, but she persevered and pried the material out to work on his fingers. He shook her a bit angrily, yelled her name in warning, but she screwed up her face and continued with single-minded purpose, feeling him brace himself. There was a pause, and she was actually able to pry up a finger.

Suddenly, she felt herself slide out of his grasp, and she flung his hand away in satisfaction. 'Ha!' She felt triumphant!

When she turned round, Logan looked confused, and Jubilee and Bobby had nearly collapsed in laughter. Kitty said mournfully, 'She can control it now,' which made sense, but she said it to the floor where her beer had spilled.

Rogue had everyone's attention now it seemed, and 'Ha!' she repeated, bowing low, nearly falling. Logan grabbed a wrist again tightly and whirled her up to him. 'You can control it? How long?'

She felt a little ill, but answered defiantly, 'Oh, weeks and weeks….and weeks.'

Jubilee spat out, 'And WEEKS.' And she and Bobby cracked up some more, Bobby nearly sobbing. Kitty started to laugh that it would be so funny if Bobby passed out because--haha--he couldn't breathe. She giggled again, and Bobby almost didn't breathe. Scott crouched down and thwacked him on the back, and Bobby sucked in a wet breath.

'Alright, let's get you kids to bed,' Logan ordered resignedly.

And she didn't remember much more about that night, except that it wasn't as pleasant as it began. And she tried to tell Logan that they weren't kids anymore, they were graduates. But she couldn't remember whether she actually told him, or whether she thought it up very angrily as a retort much later.

She supposed, if she had thought about it, that she would have expected to get called in to see Xavier the next morning. But her analytical skills hadn't really improved to that extent, and she was nursing a hell of a hang-over.

Logan woke her up with no mercy at 8:00 in the morning. 'Up and at 'em, kid,' he called, poking his head in her room and then snatching the pillow away. 'You're talking to Xavier at 9:00.'

She'd groaned, and he'd shot her a look that she interpreted as, watch it. And she'd considered, just for a moment, actually challenging him, but she figured she was in enough trouble already.

So an hour later, she found herself with wet hair, and a coffee in hand, blinking angrily and painfully at the world, waiting outside of Xavier's office. And she hoped, bitterly hoped, that this was considered a part of the punishment for underage drinking. She tossed the rest of her coffee back, hoped it would help.

She wasn't exactly running on all cylinders, but when Xavier's office door opened, and Logan called for her to enter, it did occur to her, peeking a look inside and sweeping a gaze outside, that she was alone. 'Hey!' she protested. 'Isn't anyone else getting in trouble, too?' She dug in her heels and eyed Logan disdainfully. 'It wasn't only me drinking, you know. And I didn't bring the beer!' Loyalty be damned!

'Rogue, this isn't about the drinking,' the Professor spoke from behind his desk, and Rogue saw that Ororo and Logan had moved to stand either side of him. 'Though that will come later.'

Well, shit, this looked well-and-truly like being called out on the carpet. 'Then what is this about?' she asked, confused.

'Rogue, we're here to talk to you about your powers,' Xavier intoned, and he gestured for her to seat herself in a small chair before his desk.

Her powers? Ok. She glanced up to Ororo, inscrutable as ever, and Logan was taut and pillar-like and…disapproving? Whatever. She hadn't done anything wrong. She was a little belligerent now, not just cranky.

'Rogue, when did you gain control of your powers?' Xavier asked.

She resented the pedantic line of his questioning, and not just because she had a headache. 'You know when that happened,' Rogue countered, and she saw Logan glance at the professor. 'You were there.'

'Rogue, when we last spoke, you said you did not have the ability to turn your skin off,' Xavier continued sternly.

Rogue shrugged. 'Well, I didn't know for sure. But then I practiced a little, and I touched Jubilee, and…' she eyed the three of them, staring down at her, 'well, it worked. It's been off in public ever since.'

Logan fidgeted restlessly at his post, and there was a pause in the room that Rogue grew increasingly uncomfortable with, so she broke it. 'Look, why is this a big deal? I can turn it off, not on. It's less dangerous—'

Xavier interrupted neatly. 'It's a big deal, Rogue,' and his tone was condescending, 'because we don't know that it's less dangerous. We don't yet know how it works—'

'But I do,' Rogue insisted, leaning forward in her chair. 'It's my skin, and I can tell, I can feel--'

'I'm afraid,' the Professor said, shaking his head, 'that your feelings aren't good enough.' He turned to Ororo, pinching his nose and shaking his head slightly as he began to dictate, as if overwhelmed, 'We're going to need to run some tests right away. Hank can run the blood tests—'

'This is in my mind, Professor. You think some blood test is going to give you an answer? You think my liver function changes when I turn my skin off?' she scoffed, but she was nervous.

The Professor put his hand on his desk, his mien challenging, 'We don't know, Rogue, because you failed to tell us when this happened. Now we're playing catch-up.' He shook his head, in irritation, weariness, utter disappointment. 'Rogue, we cut you and the others some slack because of what happened, but that does not excuse you--'

'Cut us some slack?' Rogue echoed, stung. 'Apart from last night, which I realize—we don't—anyway…apart from last night, we--the students--haven't done anything…anything!—except try to get through this shitty semester. It's you all,' and she gestured expansively, 'who have been falling apart! And I—I know, we all know, I mean, w-we…it's understandable. But don't make like this is my fault in not coming to you, when you weren't there!'

She saw Logan stiffen, and Storm take a steadying breath, and she winced, hoping she hadn't gone too far, knowing that she had. She fidgeted sulkily in her seat.

Xavier's expression softened a little and settled into its now-perpetual expression of weariness and regret. He responded heavily, 'Yes, you're right, and I'm sorry, Rogue. You have been through a great deal, and I know that we may have failed you…indeed, all the students this last semester.' There was a heavy pause after that, and no one's thoughts were comfortable.

'It wasn't a big deal, I would have come to you - ' Rogue offered, wanting to take back some of the bitterness of her diatribe.

'Fine,' Xavier placated, 'But let's deal with things are they are now. Now that we know, we have to run the tests, determine if it's safe, discover the mechanisms of your control.' Rogue started to object, but Xavier continued warningly, 'And, Rogue, until we know more, I want you to wear gloves and take all precautions…'

'No,' Rogue protested. 'That's not necessary. I know what works. I can feel it when it's on, and I can turn it off.'

'You'll forgive us, Rogue, if we are not quite satisfied with that. Your skin can kill, and we have an obligation--'

'You think I don't know that?' Rogue rose, feeling righteous, feeling beleaguered. 'But I can control it. I'm careful. And I would never---'

'Last night,' the Professor cut in pointedly, 'you weren't being careful. You were intoxicated.'

That sent her from beleaguered to just plain pissed. How dare they, with no knowledge whatsoever, question the care she took with her skin? Did they know what it was like every day, to be thinking always, in the back of your mind: be careful, watch out, think, for others, since they wouldn't for themselves? Did they think she took her ability to kill lightly?

She leaned over the desk, and she spoke low, almost growling, 'I was sober before I was drunk, and I would never forget to take precautions if they were needed. You don't forget that you can kill with a touch.'

She paused for breath, teeth somewhat bared, and continued somewhat less angrily, 'I know you're scared of my skin. And I am, too, because it's powerful, and it can kill. But it's mine.'

She eyed Xavier challengingly. 'So you're going to have to trust me, just as you trust Bobby with his ice and Kitty with her phasing, trust Scott with his lasers. Because you?—you can't control my skin. I can,' and she smacked her bare hand in front of him on his desk.

'I control it,' she ground out and held his gaze as she reached out, grasped his bare hand and squeezed. 'This is my gift, Professor. Trust that. Because that's all you have.' And she stood straight, casting a glance at Logan and Storm at his side, and swept out of the room.

She trembled as she stalked away, upset and confused and still somewhat angry, but also hurt, that they thought her so lacking in discretion, in responsibility. She didn't know what.

She was also ashamed…and worried. That she had thrown away the only place, the only people, she had. Had she really—wince—just touched the Professor, proclaiming that this was her gift?

She made her way outside and planted herself on bench just outside the exit. She wanted to be found. The issue hadn't really been resolved, and she didn't want to duck this any longer. She didn't suppose that they did, either.

About five minutes later, Logan thrust a head out the door, glanced each way, spied her. Just as she suspected—he was looking for her.

She rose to meet him. His expression was somewhere between grim and dread. That bad, huh? Well, she didn't want it sugarcoated. 'So, does he want me gone?'

Logan took several seconds to process that, but he answered, almost horrified, 'No! Of course not.' He shook his head, sinking down onto the bench. She stood there for a second, looking down at him. So she guessed it was…ok?

'So I can stay?' she queried, and, when he looked confused still, she pressed, 'Even after what I said?'

'Yeah,' he responded absently, not really looking at her, 'yeah.' After studying him for a few minutes, she followed him down to the bench, and they both sat side-by-side, staring at the small flowerbed in front of them. She guessed it was…ok. She felt…ok, she guessed. She glanced at Logan.

He sighed suddenly, long and loud, and leaned forward heavily with arms braced on his knees, hanging his head. She could just see his expression, and it was so despairing, so lost, so tired,…God, what a mess. She couldn't help it. She snaked through and grasped a limp hand and gave it a squeeze.

He looked up at her touch, surprise mixing with the weariness on his face, and she gave his hand another squeeze, tried a small smile. He stared at her, then down at their clasped hands for a long moment, stroked the skin. Then he sighed and, draping an arm over the back of the bench, pulled her into his side.

'So,' he began softly, giving her shoulder a squeeze, 'why didn't you tell me, kid?'

She hadn't been expecting that to be his first question, and she gazed up at him in confusion. She honestly didn't know how he couldn't know…how often he was gone, how much he was already carrying, how inappropriate and awkward it would have been for her to presume on that old whatever-it-was, and how she couldn't blame him, really.

But he held her gaze, insistent. She shook her head, tried to answer, 'You were--…' busy? Depressed? Drunk? In mourning? No longer really, or ever, her—someone she would tell?

After a few arresting seconds, he seemed to guess what she hadn't said, and his face fell, crestfallen. 'God, kid, I'm—I'm so...'

She gave him a shrug, a small smile, shrugged again. 'But it's a good thing,' she remarked in a carefully light tone. 'Right?' Because she still wasn't sure he thought so.

He smiled, but it was pitiful. He seemed to not know what to say, but after an awkward pause, some more wracked expressions, he confessed, 'I don't know how to do this.'

She didn't know what 'this' was, but… 'Ok,' she agreed readily.

He seemed to feel something more was needed, struggled to articulate whatever it was, and she just smiled a little more desperately and nodded some more.

She didn't want to hash over it: how much he loved Jean, how hard he was taking it, like all of them. She didn't want to hear apologies, or to explain how much she'd seen, how much she understood. She didn't need that, and she couldn't take that. And it really wasn't a big deal, as she'd mentioned repeatedly. So she hoped that he'd just see what she meant, because—sigh--she'd already said far too much today.

Finally, he reached for her hand again, and, with certainty, echoed, 'It's a good thing.' She gave him a genuine smile this time and settled back against him, and they stared at the flowerbed some more.

Scott found them like that a few minutes later, as he made to enter the building. 'Rogue,' he greeted colorlessly, except for the faint surprise, 'So you got control of your power. Congratulations.' He halted near the bench, and Rogue got the feeling he was trying to be normal and interested.

'Thanks, Scott,' she returned sincerely. 'It's been a few weeks, so it doesn't feel too new anymore, but, yeah…thanks, congratulations.'

There was an awkward silence, and Scott seemed to suddenly register Logan's presence, to take in his arm around Rogue. 'Well,' she began, peeking a look at Logan and darting back to Scott. 'I'd better go apologize to the Professor. I kind of…yelled at him this morning.'

Scott was surprised enough to turn his gaze back to her, but Logan called attention to himself again by giving her a squeeze, saying softly, 'Darlin', you don't need to apologize. For anything.'

'Yes, I do,' she insisted, sliding out from the bench. She tried for levity: 'My momma always told me…'

That failed, as Logan's eyes narrowed, and he returned grimly, 'Seems to me, momma lost the authority to 'tell' you when she let you go hitchhiking at sixteen.'

Wow, wasn't that just what she needed? What the--?

Scott stiffened, and his reaction, and the growing tension, made Rogue think better of responding. She stammered, without looking, 'Good manners's good manners.' And she positioned herself behind Scott, so that he would precede her into the building.

Scott paused, rigid, waiting for a reason to fight, but she gave a small cough, and he seemed to recall himself and walked in. Rogue darted one nervous glance at Logan as she quickly followed, enough to see Logan's suspicious and angry expression aimed, it seemed, at the two of them.


	2. Heat & Ice

**II: HEAT AND ICE **

Her apology went well. They both apologized, actually, and they talked, and this time, they both listened. The Professor asked, this time, if she would participate in a few tests, so that he would know, too; she agreed to a few.

'But you're right, Rogue,' he conceded. 'We do have to trust you, just as you must trust us. Let us know if there's ever anything we can do to help.'

Ironically, it didn't end up being that big a deal, but she decided not to point that out.

He congratulated her and said how glad he was that she was staying on to help them for the next year. Rogue thanked him and told him how much she appreciated all he had done for her in the past. They agreed to talk again.

Crisis averted.

One of them, anyway.

Rogue and, she surmised, the rest of the school, had looked forward to these few weeks as a time to relax and unwind, but there were more tensions in the school than ever. All of the petty squabbles and dysfunctions that had been suppressed in the mad dash to the end of the semester came simmering up again. To make things worse, the students had nothing to do, and the professors quite a bit more than they wanted, what with the approaching semester only three weeks away.

AND it was the hottest summer on record, and the school—not air-conditioned. Ripe for melodrama.

The first few fights were just minor skirmishes, really, started over the posturing of adolescent boys with mutant powers. Someone begged Bobby to use his power to create a little igloo, a little icehouse in which to cool off, and Bobby, after about three day's trials, had eventually succeeded. The igloo was a bit sorry looking, to be sure, but it served its purpose, with a small entrance and enough room for about four people.

Unfortunately, Bobby's igloo caused a lot of friction, because: 1) it only fit four; 2) he built it in an unprotected area, and it was melting rapidly; 3) Bobby felt he had rights to the igloo. Naturally, the other boys resented Bobby and his igloo, even as they wanted in. And Bobby strutted around rather smugly, insufferably.

It all began with a little taunting, a little griping.

'It's my turn to get into the igloo.'

'No, it's my turn! You were in there a few hours ago.'

'Look, it's my igloo,' Bobby interjected, trying to pull rank, 'and I say who goes into the igloo next.'

'Hey, asshole, it's everyone's now. If you hadn't built it so small, we wouldn't have had this problem. Back off. I'm going in.'

'Get away from there,' Bobby warned, hand raised. 'Without me, there wouldn't be an igloo.'

'Without you, it wouldn't be melting 'cause you were stupid enough to build it right in the middle of the fucking field.'

Etc, etc. Long story short, mutant boys and their mutant powers blew up a bit of the field, wrestled (rather unprofessionally) about, and slammed into said igloo, causing it to shatter and collapse… wait, was anybody?—Kitty!—was inside it.

The fighting halted when the igloo went down, and when the teachers were alerted, the aggressors, Bobby and Sam, were still facing each other warily, huffing, but looking guilty as hell. Rogue and Jubilee, and a few of the students had hastily begun to pick over the remains of the igloo, calling Kitty's name in a plaintive chorus.

Scott and Logan were the first to arrive at the crest of the hill; Scott glanced swiftly and tore down the hill, and Logan paused, surveying the scene, before following.

'What the fuck—' Scott roared, rounding on the two boys, hauling up Bobby by the shirt and throwing him, '—do you think you were doing!' He hauled round and pushed Sam down, too, not gently. Both boys cowered ignominiously on the ground, either side of Scott, as he continued to rain invectives on their heads.

Logan, meanwhile, was tearing into the igloo, throwing away huge ice chunks so frantically that the rest of the students had backed off entirely. Scott was still yelling, when Logan spotted Kitty and gave a bit of a grunt/groan, hefting the remaining ice off of her. Kitty sputtered, and Scott whirled round towards her, as Logan gingerly lifted her out.

She was cut--a little shallowly on her arm and forehead—and she wasn't moving a lot, but she was conscious. Scott, satisfied she was being rescued, turned wrathfully to the boys once more, 'Do you see what you could have done? Have you any idea—?'

Logan cut him off, shortly, 'Scott, lay off them. We have to get her to the med lab.'

'God damn it,' Scott raged, stalking off a few paces, breathing hard. The circle of students made room for him. He hauled Sam up, held the petrified boy up to his eyes and growled, 'You won't want to live if she's hurt.'

'Christ, would you stop fucking fighting?' Logan grated, cradling the badly-shaken Kitty in his arms, and starting up the hill.

'Me?' Scott asked, swinging Sam away from him to confront Logan.

'Get the fuck up here,' Logan called over his shoulder contemptuously. 'We don't have TIME for this now.'

Scott, steaming now, stalked after Logan, and a few of the students trailed in confusion after them, not really sure if they wanted to know what would happen next. Rogue hurried up the hill after them.

They were met, about 500 yards outside the school, by Storm. She took in the situation at a glance, must have seen Logan's contemptuous glower and, not far behind, Scott's rigid rage. 'Logan,' she stopped him. 'Give Kitty to me.' And after a brief hesitation, he did so.

Storm paused then, adjusting Kitty up in her arms and looking nervously from Scott to Logan, and Rogue wondered what she thought she could really avert. She saw Logan give a small nod to Storm, and then Storm stood taller and said in her best teacher's shout, 'Everyone in. NOW.'

The students were well-trained. They came in, jogging even, with a glare from Storm. Rogue glanced back once to see Scott and Logan face off, taut and waiting. When the last student passed her, Storm turned, too, walking as quickly as she could with Kitty in her arms. Rogue sprinted, puffing like the rest, into the trapped heat of the building and followed the others, where they began clustering around the front windows facing the field, wide-eyed, partly scared, partly entertained.

Storm labored in, shot the students a dark glance, decided she couldn't deal with it; she departed for the med lab. And Rogue shot a last worried look out the window and followed, Jubilee, and the foot-dragging Bobby and Sam in their wake.

Kitty, it turned out, was alright. No internal bleeding, which was the real scare. She did have a slight concussion and two superficial lacerations, but otherwise, she was fine. And the boys apologized to her in guilty mumbles, and she accepted their apology a little tiredly.

Rogue only learned later what happened between Scott and Logan: they had fought, and it had been dirty. Scott had attacked Logan first, it seemed, and Logan had defended himself for awhile, getting in a few solid punches. But then Logan said something to Scott, and Scott had surged up angrily and hurled himself at Logan. Scott had been easily rebuffed, but, rolling to his feet ten feet away, he'd stood and glared at Logan for a few heated seconds. And then he'd had raised a hand to his glasses, and smiled. At the last moment, the aim was to Logan's thigh instead of his torso, but Logan howled and cursed fluently, words that could be heard all the way back at the school.

Then it had been a really dirty fight, and Logan had used every trick in the book, and Scott, when he had the opportunity, had punched and kicked Logan where he'd lasered him, and they'd ended it with Scott on the ground, painfully getting to his feet, and Logan weaving and breathing hard and giving him space but still guarding him belligerently.

They'd eyed each other one more time, and then parted in different directions.

As one student said, 'It was the most awesome real fight he had ever seen.'

After the incident with Kitty, the students were put to work, either morning or afternoon, for several hours every day. They were given chain gang-type projects, like clearing a field, painting a hallway. It was boring, it was tiring: it was the point.

And when they weren't working, the students learned not to be in the way, not to be hovering. But that didn't mean that they didn't hear things.

Scott was hardly in a position to fight Logan again. Even a week later, he was still sporting impressive-looking bruises, and those were just the ones that could be seen. But that didn't stop the two from arguing. Scott's raised yell could be heard several times a day, and it was usually followed by Logan's growl, slightly below the register of Scott's fuller, throatier voice.

These clashes were often school related. The faculty was busy making decisions, about this year's curriculum and schedule. This textbook was out-of-date, this class needed to be reassigned.

Scott's behavior was the most erratic, certainly. He was sarcastic and rude in the face of apologies, excuses. He harangued people for wasting time…for upwards of thirty minutes. He complained that nothing got done unless he did it himself, and then he would claim that he couldn't be expected to do everything. Scott was usually right; but he was more obnoxious.

But Logan didn't make things any easier. He rolled his eyes at Scott's high-handedness. Supposedly, he parodied Scott's roll-call—for all of six teachers. He questioned Scott's authority whenever possible and publicly informed Scott to 'shut it' when he got into one of his rants—which never ended them more quickly.

Logan was contemptuous of Scott's tradition, of the 'old way', saying it was the 'New Way Here Now'. He interjected that so many times at such a volume that some grads yelled the phrase after him as he huffed down the hall.

And Logan raged to anyone that would listen that Scott wouldn't let him do anything, when Scott needed things doing 'so badly'. Logan had only half the workload of the other teachers, and Scott dressed him down whenever Logan tried to help them out. The others were mildly sympathetic, but he provoked Scott too often, made their lives too miserable.

Rogue couldn't believe that no one was doing anything about it. Storm could have done something, but she, it seemed, had been given the heaviest course load, and was dealing with it by ducking her head and plowing through, rather than interfering.

And the Professor really should have done something, but Rogue didn't know what he was doing. He had bowed out of the meetings and cut his own lectures down to twice a week. His withdrawal had been even more pronounced since her little meeting with him.

Somebody had to do something. Or this year was looking to be worse off than last.

A week before classes, and the freshmen were coming in a few days, and Bobby and the grads without fellowships had packed up and gone. ('I'm outta here,' Bobby had breathed fervently, and with a 'Glad it's You, Not Me' chuckle, he'd offered a thumbs-up. 'Good Luck!') Rogue and Kitty wandered round the halls looking for odd jobs to do, belatedly realizing that they were actually being paid. Sometimes someone found them work.

Scott was looking harried as he'd never looked before. When he walked down the hall, he'd notice things like not-quite-matching trim on the bulletin board, and he'd freak out about it, insisting someone find the trim and bring it out to him: no one could do anything right! There was an element of hysterics in his haranguing.

The only time he ever looked like the old Scott was when he was yelling at Logan. Logan, for his part, was gritting his teeth and mostly taking the abuse, especially as the infractions grew increasingly ridiculous. Occasionally, his eyes would roll, and Rogue would hold her breath. It was only a matter of time before he blew up. Or Scott, or both did.

Rogue didn't see the Professor at all, and she half-considered making an appointment with him, to tell him what was going on. Although, how could he not be aware?

So really! If no one was going to do anything about it, well, then…she'd do what she could.

So she sought out the one person over whom she had a smidgen of influence.

Rogue didn't really have to search too hard. She knew his habits. Actually, everyone in the school knew his habits by now, if only so as to avoid him. But he was outside, brooding in the dark heat, a cigar clamped between his teeth. He was actually smoking it tonight, and that didn't look too good.

Well, she'd see how it went. She approached quietly, not wanting to break the moment.

'What do you want?' he snarled at her when she halted to stand, not beside him, but a few feet away.

She shrugged and stared out at the night and waited to see if he would accept her presence. He took a long puff on his cigar and blew it out energetically in front of him, but after a few sharp glances in her direction, he settled down. She clasped a loose hand round her middle and listened to the sounds of the night.

He smoked more indolently, the cigar smoke curling around him. They enjoyed the stars companionably for a long, still moment.

She scuffed a toe in the soft earth. 'Scott needs to leave.'

Logan chuffed out a laugh, and his voice was dry, 'I ain't gonna disagree with ya, kid.'

She paused then and regarded her feet. 'You need to tell him.'

Logan jerked an arm and returned impatiently, 'Kid, I'm the last person that Scott would—'

'No,' Rogue interrupted, looking at him now, 'That's why it has to be you.' Logan shook his head, and she could see he was about to give her one of those you-just-don't-understand-kid lectures, so she plowed on, 'He has a problem with you being here. That's why you have to convince him it's ok to leave.'

Logan shook his head, stamped out his cigar, kicked the stub away. 'It's…complicated, kid. I can't—' His lip curled, and he planted his hands on his hips, stymied and angry about it.

It was complicated, but it wasn't. She looked up to the sky, squinting a bit to focus, picking her words carefully. 'He had two things before you got here.' He swiveled curiously to study her profile. 'He had Jean, and he had the school.' She turned to meet his sharply critical gaze. 'Now he doesn't feel like he has either. He's fighting with you over them.'

Logan's eyes were blazing now, his anger transferred from himself to her in the space of a heartbeat. He took a menacing step forward, 'I'm not fighting over anything.'

She turned back to the night, maintained her detached manner. 'Doesn't matter,' she returned and felt him back off a little, though he was still upset, dragging in breaths. 'You two are a lot alike in many ways,' she observed in a musing tone. 'I can imagine you acting that way, if your positions were reversed.'

Logan stiffened, but he seemed to be considering that. She continued softly, 'He can't take it anymore, and he can't win while you're here…And he'd leave, but he can't leave you …with all there is left.'

Logan's stance was the same, but all the emotion and energy seemed to drain out of him, and he blinked unseeing out at the night.

'If you go to him and you tell him that he loved her and he mourns her and that he can do that somewhere else, if that's what he needs. And then offer to take care of his school while he's gone, have it ready for him when he comes back. If you tell him that…' she trailed off, a little helplessly.

She didn't know if Scott would accept such a proposal, and she wasn't sure Logan could actually say those things. But she thought it was their best chance.

She sighed softly into the night and looked down to the dark grass, rubbed her neck tiredly. She'd leave it at that. She darted a glance at Logan's profile, shuffled a bit, and left. He'd have to decide what to do from there.

Rogue was busy for the next few days, helping Storm put together her lectures and syllabus. So she didn't hear the news first, and she didn't know what went down. But Scott left. He left, as far as she knew, without much of a word to anybody.

There wasn't even a faculty meeting about how his classes were being divided up. The shuffle happened surreptitiously, within two hours, in terse phone conversations and whispered hall meetings. Logan got fully 2/3 of the classes, all the gym classes and the early math classes, freshman English. The rest were distributed amongst the other teachers: Storm, she knew, had given away two of her history classes to take on two of Scott's math classes.

So on the morning that Scott left, Rogue had a lot more work and no time.

That was all she knew, and she admitted to a morbid curiosity as she entered the cafeteria at lunch that day. She got in line, grabbed a tray, spied her friends already at their seats…found herself just behind Logan. She darted a few glances up to him, but he seemed oblivious to her, scooping a few splats of mashed potatoes on his plate, and easily making his way to head table.

She began to wonder whether he'd really been behind Scott's leaving.

The students were abuzz, and the cafeteria hummed with theories and 'true stories' and unbelievable gossip.

'I heard that the Professor sent Scott away on a mission,' one boy offered, with a furtive glance. 'The government!' he hissed.

'No, I think Scott destroyed the danger room. That's why the Prof sent him away,' one student asserted, nodding in superiority. 'They won't let us in there, you know?' followed, with a knowing look.

'No way,' Jubes scoffed. 'If he had a breakdown, we'd know about it.' She sucked her soda noisily through her straw. 'He'd make a lot of noise, for one thing.'

'No, no. Scott ran away after Logan beat him up again. He didn't show his face to anybody before he left,' the kid leaned forward, then with satisfaction, 'Beat to a pulp.'

The group turned suddenly to consider Logan, eating sedately and unmarked at the head table. 'No way!' broke the spell, followed by a chorus of 'How fast does he heal?', 'Who wants to bet? Come on, how much?' and 'How come we didn't get to see!', and Rogue glanced over for a longer look at Logan, whose expression was almost bland today.

Had Scott just left?

She tuned out the clamor of her classmates as she meditatively eyed him. He must have sensed her regard, for his eyes zeroed in on hers, and their eyes locked. After a long moment, Logan nodded to her, just a slight tilt of his head. She let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding and gave a tiny nod back. He turned away when Storm said something to him.

She smiled, turning back to her rubbery chicken: so, it had worked. She listened to the other theories over the rest of lunch, entertained and amused in spite of herself. This year might just be ok.


	3. Aye, aye, cap'n

**III: AYE, AYE, CAP'N**

The semester started quickly after Scott left, and the theories and gossip died out almost entirely in the face of it.

Rogue and Kitty and the other faculty fellows were given their schedules for dormitory duty. Kitty was Storm's assistant, which made sense given Kitty's interest in math and English. It also meant Kitty was very busy, and Rogue didn't get to spend much time with her.

Rogue was assigned to the Professor, his one senior history class, which…puzzled her a bit; she hoped that the Professor had okayed that, but she was more than happy to help out. She just…wasn't very busy.

Logan's fellow was Trey, a mutant from their class with super speed, and Logan gave him a lot of errands and most of the administrative work that he'd inherited from Scott. The boy didn't give Logan any lip, but he clearly didn't enjoy his workload. She didn't envy him.

Things settled into normalcy. The freshman chattered and didn't know that the school was any different. The others just kind of embraced the smoothness of the transition rather gratefully, ready to accept and ready to forget.

The only remaining source of worry was Logan himself, the Wolverine, the former vagabond and ne'er-do-well who suddenly found himself running a school for over 100 high school mutants.

Rogue actually thought he was doing really well. He didn't know how to be loved, and he didn't know how to be teased. But he had the respect of his students and of the other faculty, because he was genuinely powerful and surprisingly able.

The frustrations of leading the school were telling on him, though. He chafed at the paperwork especially, and it didn't help that he was being constantly surprised with more. The Professor wasn't helping, and Storm, who was the only other faculty member who might know, was far too overworked to help out. So Logan bore that burden alone and badgered Trey, who could be a bit plodding.

Rogue, with more time than any of the other assistants, helped out, sometimes Storm or Hank, mostly Trey, especially with intricate paperwork, and tried to elicit information from the Professor about the running of the school. She became quite familiar with the files in the main office.

Still, it was so much better than Rogue could ever have predicted. She still worried that Logan would get the wanderlust back again or would snap into a rage or would grow weary of teaching students the same thing over and over again. But she decided to stay out of it, silently watching, wordlessly helping out, until and unless she saw something…

It was when he started yelling, really yelling, at the freshmen class in the danger room that she knew she had to interfere. He was on his soap box, making a speech so demoralizing--

'That was fucking pathetic. It was unfocused, sloppy, whiny, petulant, and weak. In every way. What the hell were you doing, Anne, over there? And Douglas, whatthe fuck you have a weapon for if you're not gonna Fucking use it!

'The whole team. The whole CLASS. Worthless pieces of shit, all o' ya. Yeah, cry all you want, that ain't gonna make you good enough to live. 'Cause there's a fucking goddamn WAR out there, and we need warriors. We don't need no pansy-ass kids who don't know their heads from their asses.

'Do you care about LIVING? DO ya! With trained mutants DYING out there, you think you and your shitty skills are gonna survive?'

She had entered at the side door, trying to make some noise over his wild berating, and the freshmen class was clustered in small, huddled, shamed knots in the room. Good Lord, this was bad.

She was side-stepping into the room, giving him plenty of space and opportunity to notice her, but not backing down, her posture as confident as she could make it.

'WHAT!' he snarled, whirling round to her. 'What the fuck you want?'

The children turned miserable eyes in her direction. She ignored them, saying clearly and firmly, 'Logan. I must speak to you for a moment. Outside.'

She was surprised that he gave in with alacrity. 'Oh, whatever,' he tossed, as he abruptly turned heel and stalked out of the classroom. She spared the children, most weren't much more than that, a glance, before following him out and closing the door behind her.

She approached him, where he stood stewing in the hall, his arms crossed, foot tapping, shaking his head. He muttered under his breath, and she let him calm down a bit.

When he stopped tapping his feet, she took a step closer. 'So what was that?' she asked quietly, but not gently.

He glared at her a bit, but answered, 'Those kids were fucking everything up. All the sims.'

'Yes they will,' she nodded. 'They're freshmen.'

He blew out a breath, and it wasn't quite the release of all his frustrations. But she felt he was ready for her to say, 'You fucked it up in there. Logan, that was way too much. If they're not scared shitless of you, they're in there hating you with a passion.'

He gave a huff of laughter. 'Yeah,' he drawled with self-deprecation, '… a passion.' He leaned against he wall, his head going back, nostrils dilating with a huge breath. His hands went up to clutch at the hair at his temples, and he exhaled noisily, breathed in-and-out a few more times.

Time to redirect him. 'Well, it can't be helped. Not today. Not for awhile maybe, but it can be fixed,' his head came up to look at her sharply, and she added in warning, 'Provided you don't go in there and yell at them some more. Or ever again.' Maybe that was a bit too much to ask: she tacked on, 'Like that.' And he looked marginally better.

He shook his head a few times as though to clear it, and he, swear to God, wrung his hands a few times, kneading his palms and rubbing his knuckles a little compulsively.

'Well, they're still in there,' she gestured over her shoulder. 'Probably hoping you'll call it a day.'

His gaze darted to the door, and he managed another huff of almost-laughter.

'You gonna tell 'em, or should I?' she asked quietly.

'I'll… I'll tell 'em,' he said just as quietly, and he went over, propped open the door and called out in a tired voice. 'Hit the locker room, folks. That's it for today.' He held the door open as his students filed out, and managed to look just a shade friendlier than grim as they herded past him.

When they'd all filed out, he stood rooted there, door still propped open, so she peeked up at him quizzically, and shuffled past him to collect the weapons and equipment left out in the room and stack them away.

The door closed, and she could hear him moving to help her, the task helping to divert and focus him. Within a few minutes, most of the room was cleared. She lifted and refolded the last of the mats, dragging them to the corner, and he helped heave them on top of the pile. She leaned against them, pausing for breath.

'Thanks,' he said quietly, settling heavily against the mats next to her.

'No problem,' she returned amiably, giving him a small smile.

He paused, then asked as though it were worrying him, 'You heard me?'

She grinned. 'Sugar, the groundskeeper heard you.'

His smile was ghastly, and it suddenly broke. 'Christ, I can't DO this.' He was rubbing his temples, and he turned partly away, his shoulders high and tense.

She decided to remain where she was; sympathy at this point would only confirm his view. 'Yes, you can,' she affirmed with nonchalance. 'You're doing it now. You've been doing it.'

He swung round, and at another time, she would have laughed at his disheveled hair. 'Like today, you mean?'

'Not your finest hour,' she agreed, deciding not to sugarcoat it for him. 'But, as I said, not unfixable. You've done the hard parts already, committing, running the school. Now you just need to do the fine-tuning.'

'Fine-tuning as in, 'Not scaring the shit outta my students'?' he asked in a hard tone.

'Yes, like that,' she agreed, a small grin on her face.

'Goddamn it,' he sighed, leaning back with closed eyes against the mats again. 'What the fuck do I do now?' he asked, in such a lost voice she wondered if he really had given up.

'For class, you mean?' she asked, wanting to be sure they were still on this particular problem facing them, and not the more monumental one of how he was handling so much pressure. He gave a tight nod.

'Well, apologize – not for reaming them out. You're the teacher and it's your job to tell them when they're wrong, but you regret that you spoke so… freely.' He jerked a shoulder in response.

She hesitated, but she felt it needed saying. 'And how many students did you specifically tear into?' He winced. 'Well, you may want private ones for them. They may not take it too well...worth a try.' He nodded.

'But anyway, you apologize for yelling, but then refocus attention on why you reamed them out and why they should get it right. Preferably without reference to their impending death next time.'

He gave a humorless chuckle, and she peered up at him, saw him swallow grimly. 'I'm assuming there was a reason...?' she prompted.

'Yeah,' he replied a little absently. 'They were… in the sims, they were fucking up the fundamentals….Christ, we've run so many drills. I expect them to know those things by now.'

'But it was like a scrimmage?' she pressed.

'Yeah. It was like they couldn't apply the fundamental moves and throws to the full-blown simulation.'

'So, break it down for them some more. Something shorter and more organized but still with the uncertainty of an attack.'

He exhaled, mulled, 'Yeah. Might work.'

'Sparring, maybe?—an assigned offensive move, and the other repels without knowing what's coming,' she suggested, looking around. 'You could even turn it into a competition, or peer-crit.'

He took a few steps into the room, taking in the lay-out, and began to pace around as he came up with ideas. 'Yeah. We could have teams, pick out attack moves…counterattack and pin.'

'Sure,' she murmured, coming up behind him. 'Maybe some defensive strategies.'

'Yeah,' Logan agreed, his gaze sweeping the room. 'And practice again with the same moves until they get it right.'

'Sounds good,' Rogue commented, coming to stand right beside him.

He smiled in relief down at her, but then his brow furrowed, and he muttered, 'But how to do that as a class? How to set it up?'

So they planned it out between them, got the stations, the moves, the groups. At one point, he mused absently, 'I'm gonna need someone to run the other station,' and she frowned at his diagram, 'I suppose I could.' He paused, and then nodded, and she was glad. She wanted to play buffer for a little while, show the students how to take his barked criticism, model for Logan how to order without, well, ordering.

After a good hour, they found themselves crouched on the floor, a few pieces of paper in front of Logan, a few items of equipment pulled out, and the conversation just kind of wound down. She decided, not entirely selflessly, he could do the rest himself. So she stretched out on the floor, then noisily smacked her lips and cushioned her head with her hands in a mime of relaxation.

Logan observed her with a bemused grin. 'So, you're done planning now, eh?'

'Oh, you've got that well in-hand,' she assured him, closing her eyes and sighing theatrically. 'And hey, whose class is this, anyway?' She waved him away.

There was a pause, and then she heard him say, almost tenderly, 'What would I do without you, kid?'

And she stopped her first thought, which was 'Live a life of adventure and romance on the road?', because it wasn't fair to say to the man who was now struggling at being Leader, and she wasn't sure if, post-Jean, it was even true anymore. So she answered archly, 'Die of boredom? Plunge into a sea of despair?'

She expected to hear his chuckle, but instead: 'Couldn't've done this without ya.'

It was far too somber, and she needed to stop it now. Before she, you know, thought about it too much…

'Logan,' she said earnestly, struggling into a sitting position. 'You could. I just have the advantage of you in remembering what it was like to be a freshman.' She paused, realizing what she'd said, and how it stirred up topics she'd rather not bring up now, like her age and his memory loss.

She decided a quick tease was in order to smooth her embarrassment, 'And I also have the advantage of knowing how scary you seem …but aren't.'

'Oh, I'm not scary?' he scoffed, only half-amused.

'Aww, Logan,' she cooed, 'Hate to break it to ya, but you have the heart of a softie buried underneath all that scary hair.'

'What's wrong with my hair?' he asked, sounding put-out.

'Well, right now, it's a trifle—' she giggled, looking at it, '—er, windswept. Or something.'

He gave a small growl, and ran his fingers through it a bit. His expression was still not one of amusement, so she smiled affectionately at him. 'Better.'

She reached up to pat down a yet-untamed lock, and he followed her hand with his. She was arrested at the touch, and he regarded her affectionately, with pride and a bit of wonder. 'I can't quite get used to this,' he remarked, still stroking her hand.

She laughed a bit nervously. 'Yeah, it's something, isn't it?' Realizing that sounded a bit sarcastic, she cleared her throat and admitted, 'It's…well, it's making it a lot easier to be normal.' She gave a shrug, trying to shake off what his hand moving on hers was doing to her.

He pressed her hand once more and released it.

She remained frozen and hopelessly awkward in front of him, so she was glad he turned to gather up all the paper around them. 'So you'll be here to help me next class, right? Thursday, 9:00.'

She whipped up into a smart salute. 'Your new recruit, SIR!'

He cracked a smile, and smiled almost absently now, and she saw that it was somehow necessary to him that he reestablish himself as the adult one, the capable one.

So she skipped out. Hoped that part wasn't overkill.

The next class, beyond all expectation, went really, very well. It met every other day, so everyone had had a few days to quiet down and get over it. Rogue busied herself in the danger room before class, lugging out equipment and checking stations. But she saw her presence centered the students somewhat. Logan was hardly likely to repeat last class's performance in front of an outsider.

They were a bit sullen, and Logan's brow was a bit commanding, but all were committed. When Logan gave his apology/pep talk, she modeled a response of 'respectful obedience' for the group. Honestly, she wondered why she wasn't in drama: her attuned posture and nods were subconsciously copied by all but the most bitter or most shy. His apology was brief but effective, and his 'You need to be better' pep talk was serious but positive. That helped, too.

It mostly worked, and within five minutes, the teams were divided up, and students were being urged to exhaust themselves, to dig deeper and perform better, than they had in the past.

Rogue figured she had about one opportunity that day to model some behavior for Logan, and she figured praise was the one thing he had never yet demonstrated. So, when the first student fell and failed from the attack, she yanked him up by the arm and, before Logan could get past his disappointed look, commanded, 'Tell me what was right about that.'

The student, a tad humiliated, panted a little shamefacedly, but flicked his eyes back to hers a few times. 'I…, uh, the first move, I, uh, I blocked,' he tried tentatively.

She nodded, 'And you protected your zone and kept your weight well-distributed. What was wrong?'

The kid swiped his face. 'I didn't move into the grab and use the momentum for a counter-throw.'

Rogue nodded, and she could see Logan scrutinizing the entire interaction from the corner of her eye. 'Good. See it again?' She brought in the same partner, instructing him to use the same moves. The loser successfully threw the partner this time, and she pulled them both up. 'Good job. Next.'

She avoided shooting off a meaningful gaze in Logan's direction. No use being too obvious. But the students lost some of their nervousness, and the questions 'What went right?', 'What went wrong?' became standard fare after throws.

It was going to be Ok, Rogue thought, wiping sweat from her forehead and watching as the dismissed students trudged out the door to the shower. They weren't happy, they weren't over their grumbling, but they didn't hate him. Still running a little scared, sure, but…with time.

She felt pretty comfortable leaving Logan alone with his class now, nodding to herself righteously. She was tired and ready to go, and she made her way to the exit while rubbing her sweaty face on her towel. But Logan, wiping down and stowing away the equipment, called out to her, 'See you next class?'

She turned, mouth open a bit, but he wasn't actually looking up from his task, so, after a pause, she answered, 'Aye aye, cap'n.'

He threw his towel after her and admonished, 'Nine o'clock again. Don't be late.'

So—she guessed she was stuck with that.

She wasn't so upset about helping Logan out with his freshman class, or about helping in the same capacity for the senior, junior and sophomore classes, when he mentioned that, really, he could use an assistant in there, too. She figured it wasn't that hard.

But she did object when, one afternoon, he used her to demonstrate several moves, and then, after throwing her a few times, he commented, in front of the entire class, that she could do with some training herself. A comment, by the way, which inspired laughter.

She pulled herself up and dusted herself off, glaring at him resentfully, and he persisted. 'Seven o'clock tonight. We need to get you into a program.' And the students exchanged amused grins, and she bared her teeth at him in frustration, which was met with more giggles, She huffed out a breath, realizing she had no choice. 'Aye aye, cap'n,' a retort she'd taken to because it annoyed him.

He nodded sharply, then floored her again with a well-placed sweep. 'Good,' he answered, stepping over her.

She supposed she could see the humor in it, and she accepted with good grace the ribbing of the class. A student helped her up, and she thanked her, and they got down to business.

But could she mention, once and for all, that he was training her really hard? REALLY HARD. She was in the training room every night, and he would absently observe her, then increase her weights or the incline on the treadmill.

It wasn't just physically fatiguing (though it was certainly that); it was mentally fatiguing, never knowing when she was done, when she would be suddenly required to do more, when it would all be over.

One night she stopped him. 'Logan!' and she actually tried to shove his hand off the dial.

'You're not pushing hard enough. Look at you, you're barely breathing hard.'

'That's because I've only done a half-mile, and I'm going to be running four after this. Back off!'

He didn't, and she suddenly, in almost jerky panic, jumped off the treadmill when she couldn't force his hand away. 'Look, Logan,' and she poked his chest. 'There have to be some ground rules. There have to be some days off. I can't run myself to the bone for you every night.' She put her hands on her hips and blew her white locks off her forehead. 'I'm exhausted, ok?'

She hoped all of her resentment was emptied from her expression, but he just regarded her with dismissive authority. 'My job is to make you better, Marie. To push you, when you can't or won't push yourself.'

"Better? Than what? For what?' she demanded. That was part of the frustration, never knowing when it was going to stop, or why she was doing this. 'And I am pushing myself, Logan, every day. For you. And you just keep adding on more. Faster, kid. Harder, kid. More. You won't even take the time to see what I've accomplished!'

'You want me to coddle you, like those children in class?' He looked incredulous.

'Praise, Logan, not coddling. It's saying what's good as well as what's bad.'

'But,' he stopped, confused. 'You know what you're doing right. You don't need me to tell you.'

She swallowed a laugh that was a half-sob. 'Logan, praise is something we all like to hear. Knowing someone else sees it, too, you know?'

He just stood there for a second, shuffled his feet. She shook her head, blinked at her feet, trying to calm down enough that she could assure him it was alright. She was surprised when he spoke first. 'I'm…' and he broke off, but continued, 'You're, uh… you're doing a lot of things right. You know, listening, and pushing, and…'

'Logan,' she interrupted, feeling she ought to rescue him from his painful recitation. 'I don't—I don't need that from you. Plus, you suck at it. Just—I need you to listen to me. To respect me.'

He looked even more confused now. And hurt.

'Look, I need to have veto power. Ok? You have to trust me: if I say I'm exhausted, I'm exhausted.' She saw his gaze flickering down her, as if evaluating her claim.

She wanted to explain why he should trust her, why she wouldn't betray that trust. Wryly, she elaborated, 'I want to please you, Logan. I just won't always be able to.'

He looked a little abashed, and she was sorry that was necessary to prove her point, but he backed up a step. And that step was what she needed.

'You can order me around all you want tomorrow,' she offered, clambering aboard the treadmill again.

He didn't answer, still frozen in position, and she wondered if she had been too forceful, if he would ever suggest an increase in mileage again. Not that that would be the end of the world for her, but…something in him seemed to need this.

She went to turn the treadmill back on, but his hand stopped her, and she saw that he was close now. He pulled her hand away and spoke gruffly, as though embarrassed, 'You do please me.'

She nodded, squeezed the hand he had removed from the controls. 'Well, good,' she murmured. 'That was the plan, right?'

He nodded, and she squeezed again, and he took the hint and let go. She gave him one last nod, turned on the treadmill and began jogging again.

He watched her for a few minutes before leaving. She sighed when he went, but she was still glad that she'd forced the issue.

Veto power- thank God! She couldn't follow orders every moment of every day.

Most students got rather used to Logan after another few months. The rumor mill still lambasted him with regularity, and his explosive speech had been oft-retold with amusing alterations. It had attained a kind of legendary status. However, most students no longer mentioned Logan (and his class) with actual fear or loathing. The fear and loathing they proclaimed had become part of the long-running joke.

But that did not mean that students approached Logan for help, when they needed it, or sought him out. He was still a distant figure, if no longer a feared one.

It had become a bit of a burden to the other teachers, actually. Logan taught freshman and sophomore math, but his students sought help from other teachers when they needed it, especially Ororo, who taught math to juniors and seniors.

Ororo had evidently, spoken about it to Logan, and he had been proactive, announcing to the class in a vigorous tone that, 'He didn't know why, but that students were going to Ororo for help in his class, and he just wanted it to be clear that they could come to him. Besides, they shouldn't bother her; it was his job, and if they had problems in his class, they should come to him.' This was accompanied by a few thumps to his chest and rather fierce eyes. So, of course, students stopped asking for help, period.

Rogue found out about this speech and its effects a little obliquely. Beth Anne was a shy girl whom she knew from gym, but she'd never had much contact with her outside of class, so she was surprised, when Beth Anne approached her in the cafeteria one day and asked for her help.

'Of course,' she answered reflexively. 'If I can. What's up?'

Beth Anne had produced her math book – Algebra II – and had trembled as she unfolded and handed over her homework, saying, 'I just, I don't get it. And there's a test coming up on Friday, and I don't know what I'm going to do.'

Rogue examined the problems: factoring. And she looked up –factoring was a bit tricky for some people, because it was backwards.

'Mmm, factoring, huh?' and she shot a commiserating glance Beth Anne's way. 'No fun. I remember this.'

Beth Anne nodded, though she still looked worried. 'It's not so much that I can't solve them, you know?' she said in frustration. 'It's just that I can't always solve them. What am I missing?'

'Have you talked to your teacher about this?'

Beth Anne winced. 'Logan is our teacher, and he told us we can't ask Ororo.' The last nearly a wail.

'And so you can't talk to Logan because…?' Rogue shook her head.

'Well, he's---you know, he's…' Beth Anne tried.

'He's Logan,' Rogue answered. Beth Anne nodded gratefully, and Rogue made a decision. 'Well, I really don't remember how to do these factoring problems. It's been years, you know?' Beth Anne's expression fell, but Rogue plowed on, 'And I kinda feel stu—silly not knowing, so…let's go ask him together. Come on…he won't be so Logan with the two of us.'

She grabbed Beth Anne's book with one hand and clasped her elbow with the other and made her way up casually to the teacher's table on the other side of the cafeteria. There Logan, mid-bite, froze as he saw them approach.

'Logan,' she spoke with relief, 'Beth Anne and I were talking about this factoring problem, and I don't get it either. Help us?'

He swallowed his bite, and Rogue was busy getting two chairs and stuffing Beth Anne into one across the table from him, while he cleared his throat and said, a tad surprised, 'Sure, kid.'

He turned a little softly to Beth Anne and asked, 'Which problem?' and she kind of let the paper fall to table in front of his outstretched hand, and he, blinking, straightened it out and asked, 'The circled ones?' And Beth Anne nodded.

'Well. What don't ya get?' he asked absently, still looking down, and Beth Anne's expression closed up.

Rogue stepped in, 'It's like…when you're looking at a factoring problem, some of them you just look at and you know, you know? And then you look at some, and it's like….' And she let herself trail off. Logan was looking at her a little funny, but Rogue turned to Beth Anne, who answered softly, 'You just don't get it.'

Logan shifted a bit in his seat. 'Alright.' And he looked at a loss as to how to proceed.

'So, um, Logan,' Rogue began tentatively. 'W—we were kinda hopin' that there would be some kind of—' and she turned to Beth Anne—'strategy? Or something. To always solve them.' Beth Anne nodded a little.

Logan looked a little surprised, but unfolded the sheet and began to teach them about multiples for a while, and writing down all of the multiples and trying them out, and Rogue nodded and glanced in confusion at Beth Anne a few times, sometimes afterwards saying with a frown, 'Logan, um…you're going a bit fast. Could you…could you slow down a bit, maybe? Go over that last step again.' And Logan would throw sharp eyes in her direction, but would go over it again, slowly.

He had them practice with another problem, and Rogue did some theatrical worrying of her lip, and Beth Anne nibbled on her own a bit, and then Rogue turned conspiratorially to Beth Anne and asked, 'So, what have you got?' And they both reviewed their results together and tortuously got the right answer after about five minutes. Logan was waiting, with a poorly-hidden expression of impatience.

That impatience turned up a notch when Rogue turned to Logan and said, 'That way doesn't make much sense to me. Is there another way?'

He answered shortly, 'That way will work for you every time.'

But Rogue pressed, 'I know, but,' and she turned searching eyes to Beth Anne, who was nodding a bit in sympathy, 'It doesn't make sense to me, like, why. And I get confused about which numbers to use together, and I'm worried that I'll miss some and mess up. Is there another way?'

Logan regarded her for a minute, darted a glance at Beth Anne who was actually looking at him now, and then leaned forward, saying, 'There is a way to solve it like a straightforward algebra problem: two equations, two unknowns. Look, if you do it like this,' and he demonstrated. This time the explanation took much longer, but solving it was much easier.

Rogue turned to Beth Anne, completely shutting out Logan, and asked, 'Does that make sense to you?' And Beth Anne nodded with near-certainty. So Rogue hunkered back on the other side of the table, 'So could ya explain it t'me?…tell me again. Which is ab?' And Beth Anne explained it to her, a bit more haltingly than Logan had, while he shuffled his feet and watched, confused and irritated about being left out again.

'Can you test us again?' Rogue asked him after a bit.

And Logan gave them another problem, his eyes glowering a bit at Rogue, but polite to Beth Anne. But after a much shorter time, they had solved the problem, and Rogue sat back with a satisfied air and said, 'That…that almost makes sense.'

And Beth Anne answered, 'yeah.' She blushed a little. 'I—yeah. Thanks, Mr…er, Logan. I…I think I'll be able to do this now.' Rogue echoed her thanks to Logan, then wished Beth Anne luck on the exam on Friday, and handed her the book. She couldn't resist teasing, 'Guess he's not that bad. Just have to get him when he's on his own.' She twirled a finger, 'Spread the word.' Beth Anne looked acutely embarrassed for a second, but she eventually gave a half-giggle aimed at Logan and went away.

Logan was eyeing her narrowly when Rogue sat back down. 'What the hell was that?'

She shrugged, and he accused her, 'You knew how to do that math problem.'

Rogue rolled her eyes. 'No shit, Sherlock.' His gaze didn't falter, so she fluttered her lashes, laid a hand at her breast, and in her best southern trilled, 'No! Was I really that good an actress? Why, I do declare!'—she gestured expansively—'You love me! You really love me!' His confounded expression had her collapsing onto the table in giggles.

She didn't snort, but it was a near thing. He was now staring at her with a face of stone, brazening out the attention her outburst had garnered from the other diners. So maybe she had been a little louder than she'd intended. 'Logan, my God, get a sense of humor,' she reproached.

'You ever gonna answer me?' he queried, a tad belligerently.

'You must be dense, sugar,' she responded, and he looked about ready to growl. 'Relax. Ok, ok. You evidently gave a little speech about asking for help, told them to stop going to Ororo?' He nodded. 'Well, they're not quite…ready to approach you yet.'

His expression didn't change, but he tensed a little. 'I said, relax, sugar. It'll come with time. Some balls, on their part. Some tact, on yours.' She stared for a moment in the direction Beth Anne had gone. 'Helping out one of the shyest students and not killing her will help.' She gave him a grin.

He let out a gruff, 'Oh.'

'Yeah. Oh. I wasn't doing it to irritate you, sugar.' She leaned forward, pressed a kiss to one mutton chop. 'But you keep thinking that, if you like.' She straightened, primped her hair, quirked an eyebrow, and parted with the provocative, 'See you tonight.' She couldn't help the laughter, though, as she sauntered away.


	4. Offstride

**IV: OFF-STRIDE**

He kept throwing out quizzical looks at her after the Beth Anne incident, like he couldn't quite figure her out. She didn't really get that, since they were doing basically the same things they'd always done, but… well, she wasn't going to think too hard about it.

Honestly, she liked him better when he was a bit off-stride.

So she wasn't too surprised when he suggested that they take a ride somewhere, on a Saturday. She could see that, whatever he was asking himself about her, he wasn't getting any answers. Traditionally, their rides out had been about those, though they were usually just before he left, too.

She wondered what, exactly, he was questioning now.

But the day was lovely. Unseasonably warm.

They wound their way up some backroads through the mountains. An hour on the bike, pressed up against him, the heady feel of the wind on her face: well, she was sorry they arrived.

She laid her head against his shoulder for one last moment, feeling the warmth of the sun-bathed leather, then with a shake, she disembarked, striding to the edge of the lot and surveying the view with a hand held up to her brow. She could hear Logan parking the bike and then strolling up to join her.

'Nice place,' she commented, and she led him on a short hike down, past the picnic area, towards a more isolated spot on top of a hill. They laid out congenially, propped up on their elbows, sunning themselves and enjoying the view.

'So, how are ya, kid?' she asked in an exaggerated drawl, miming a tip of the hat.

He raised an eyebrow at that but didn't answer, just began absently shredding a few blades of grass, and she figured that's all the further she'd help him. He could start the conversation himself on his own time.

She tilted her head up to the sun, closed her eyes to concentrate on the sensation. It was times like this that, suddenly, the urge to turn her skin on came to her. She inhaled slowly, grappling with the idea—pushed it back.

'You know,' Logan began in a soft growl, and when she opened her eyes, he was still shredding grass, focusing on it so steadily that she almost thought he was…afraid to bring this up.

'Yes?' she asked, turning on her side towards him and sweeping a hand through the grass between them.

He looked up, and his eyes were bemused and chagrined and embarrassed all at the same time. 'Every time I walk into a room full of students now, one of 'em, somewhere in the back row,' and he cleared his throat, spoke lower and quicker, 'does that youloveme-youreallyloveme crap.'

'What?' she questioned, confused.

'You know,' he said crankily, jerking a shoulder. 'Like you did at lunch that day.'

'What!' she repeated, in disbelief now, and she began to bubble over with laughter. 'Oh, sugar,' she tried in sympathy, but her laughter leached all meaning from the sentiment. She bit her lip and tried to stop shaking, but a picture of it flashed in her head, the over exuberant and dramatic delivery, the stiff, angry and embarrassed Logan, the growl, the inevitable laughter and catcalls. Oh, she hoped she could catch it someday!

He looked irritated now, hunched a shoulder her way. 'It's not funny,' he grated defensively.

'Oh, come on, yes, it is,' Rogue insisted, the laughter dying but an affectionate feeling still strong. 'And you know what it means,' and she reached out playfully to chuck him on the chin, a move which he repulsed, 'It means they love you, they really love you.' She stuck out a tongue at him.

He winced, and she laughed again. 'And you thought they never would,' she chided.

He glanced at her then, just a peek, and she saw that midge of uncertainty, and she wondered, a flash of clarity, if he had brought it up to find out if that was indeed what it meant.

She grinned at him affectionately, and the conversation lagged again, but not unpleasantly. She shook her head, swallowed one last laugh, and settled lazily back down in the grass.

When Logan next spoke, his voice startled her with its sudden harshness. 'So how come you're hiding?'

Her eyes flicked to his, eyebrows raised, and his were hard, challenging. She darted a look to their surroundings, down at her not-so-hidden body, and, questioningly, back at him. 'Not now,' he grunted impatiently. 'I want to know why you're always hiding at the school.'

'What, in the locker room, behind every tree?' He wasn't having it. She blew out a breath, got serious. 'Look, you're going to have to be more specific. I don't know what you're talking about, Logan.' Her good mood was gone, and that should have told her something.

'Your skin,' he continued, reaching to grab her hand, and she could feel her face harden. 'That night about Scott. Trey with the paperwork. When I yelled at the freshman. The 'what was right?' the next day. Beth Anne.'

He regarded her stolidly, like he was expecting her to cop to the crime, like he expected her to know exactly what he meant. 'Logan, I—' she halted, still resenting his grasp on her hand, still confused, still not liking how this was going at all. In exasperation, she gestured to the sky, 'What do those things have to do with—with anything?'

'You've been helping me,' Logan continued, and she felt pressure build in her chest, and she could feel her forehead working into a frown. 'You've been helping me and you've been hiding it.'

She was embarrassed, but she was also pissed off, and that seemed like the easier emotion to work with. 'Oh, so I guess I was hidden when I helped out at your classes?' she tossed sarcastically, eyes narrowed. 'You asked for my help!'

'Eventually,' he agreed. 'I asked for it eventually. But most times I haven't had to ask. It's like you're watching, waiting, and then you're helping before I notice.'

Boy, that made her sound like a stalker. And she wasn't, she wasn't. She wasn't following him, waiting for him, building a future of her hopes and dreams around him. She observed him, as students observed their teachers at the school. If she knew him better than most students knew their teachers, Logan had been the one to decide how close their relationship should be. And she carefully observed the rules he set out.

She didn't think she could articulate any of that, though. She wanted out of this conversation, out of this--

'Fine,' she said, aiming for cool, probably landing at something like prissy, and slid her hand away from his. 'I won't help anymore.' She had to sit up, look away, and she could hear the grass rustling as he sat up, too.

'Marie,' his voice was low and rough, and her name sounded strange on his lips. She tried to recall when last he had said it. 'Marie, I just don't know why you're hiding it.'

'I'm not hiding anything,' she countered quietly, and she wanted it to be clear. 'I'm a fellow. And I was a student. I see something, I help out.'

There was a long pause, and she could feel the disappointment in it, how this conversation had defeated them, how he hadn't gotten the answer he wanted, just as she hadn't gotten the question she wanted.

She shook her head, angry with herself, determined to dispel the tension, because they still had an hour's ride back. And about three months of the school year to go. 'Look,' she began and she finally did look at him again. He was gazing with an empty expression at the grass between them.

'You've been helping out the other teachers, too?' he asked then, evenly but with too much care.

'Sometimes,' she responded, and he looked away, and she continued carefully. 'Not so much lately.' He turned to look at her again, and she directed a small uncertain grin at him. 'You've kept me kinda busy.'

His eyes searched hers, darting from one to the other, and she tried not to be nervous about it. 'How come you didn't come right out and tell me I wasn't givin' enough praise? That the kids were scared of me?'

She grinned a little too broadly at that, and he looked hurt. 'Well, because you'd resent it,' she explained. 'Come on, Logan, if I'd had a finger out'—and she wagged a finger at him mockingly, giving her best old lady impression—'and said, now, Logan, you must praise more...Or, Logan, our Beth Anne here doesn't get the problem: Slow Down, young man!'

She shook her head. 'It's also a matter of what you notice. Anyone else could see that your students felt like they couldn't please you, that they were too timid to approach you.'

He blanched, and she realized that sounded a little harsh. 'It's not your fault. I mean, you're a man. You're—you're Wolverine. You just can't read facial expressions.'

'I'm a man?' he asked dangerously, scowling.

'A mighty good man,' she tried a little desperately, at the stage where ripping off pop songs was all she could think of. She realized he probably didn't get the reference when he turned away. She panicked. 'You're doing a good job, you're a good teacher. You know that, right?' she asked, peering round him.

He turned at that, to stare her down, but his face was red, and, when she'd backed away, he wouldn't look at her. She'd embarrassed him.

His next question was quiet: 'That night when you told me about Scott?'

She shrugged, ready take it at face value. 'It was reaching a crisis point, had to be Scott, the Professor, Ororo, or you. Scott'd have to talk himself round to leaving, and there wasn't time for that.

'The Professor was next best, but he looked…well, he looked like he couldn't then. Ororo was overworked, and there was still the problem of you.

'You, well,' she fidgeted with the grass, 'You were ideal, because you were the one Scott had to trust. But…you were hard because I had to convince you. And you had to convince Scott.' She swallowed, and there was a pause in which she was too unnerved to glance up, see his reaction.

'You knew exactly what to say,' he observed.

She was back to theatrics to hide the tension. 'It's a gift,' she simpered, turning up her nose and giving a what-can-I-say-I'm-just-talented toss of her hand.

He studied her for a moment, smiled belatedly, and the smile was tired but affectionate. She wondered if they were done, hoped so. She smiled reassuringly at him.

'You can tell me, you know,' he offered. 'Right out, not just around me. You can tell me these things.'

'Uh-huh,' she returned with a frown. 'Ya mean…like I just did?' She giggled, even though it wasn't funny, still not clear on what he was saying, because it seemed like he wanted something to change, and she wasn't certain what it was or if it was what she wanted.

'I want to know what you think. I want you to tell me—what you think.'

'O-ok. Sure.' He was still looking at her as though she would magically divulge all her thoughts now. She didn't know how—was pretty sure she didn't want—to do that. So she hunched her shoulders, glanced around furtively, stage whisper, 'I think that Storm has a secret candy stash in the locked drawer of her desk.' She held up a finger to her lips, gave him a broad wink.

His gaze was still the shrewd one of before, as though she hadn't spoken. He rose, suddenly, with purpose, and remarked in satisfaction, 'Yup, I'm gonna start getting your opinion on all kinds of things.' He strode back down the hill, to the bike.

'Wha--?' she asked, jumping up. 'Are you even waiting for me?'

'Hurry up if you want a ride home,' he called, not even breaking stride.

Rogue wouldn't say that she avoided Logan after that day on the hill. But she would admit to taking opportunities to leave the school where they were given.

Was she 'hiding'? Absolutely not. Or if she was, it was in a completely different way, so…there.

Anyhow, spring break was upon them, which made it easy. Jubes' spring break didn't coincide with theirs, so she had to stay, but Rogue and Kitty were planning a trip to New York, since they didn't have a car for a road trip.

They stayed in hostels, and it was dirty and dank and a little scary and lots of fun. They saw the Guggenheim and the Metropolitan, and they did lots of shopping. And they were silly and girly as they could only be when Jubes and Bobby weren't with them.

It was wonderful and such a break and just what they needed. But it wasn't relaxing, and she was almost more tired than when she'd left.

And she encountered Logan in the hallway within minutes of returning. 'Where did you go?' he asked narrowly, and she was dusty and smelly and feeling gross from the hostel, not to mention the Greyhound bus.

'Spring break,' she explained, blowing her bangs off her forehead. Kitty laughed, and pushed past them in the hallway, her overstuffed bag dislodging them for a minute, but Logan remained in front of her, blocking her way.

'I said, where did you go?' he barked.

'New York City,' she answered, and she saw he was going to expostulate, so she preempted, 'Look, I don't see any of the other fellows getting grilled over their spring breaks.'

'I had stuff I wanted you to do,' he almost whined.

'Well, tough,' she retorted, shifting her bag to her other shoulder. 'It was spring break, and I'm entitled to go on it.'

She sagged a little before him. He frowned slightly, relented, 'Well, come downstairs. I want you to—'

'Look, I'm not even your fellow,' she shot at him. 'I'm not technically on duty until tomorrow, and I'm tired.' She tried to clear her head. 'Please move out of my way.'

She wasn't looking at him, so she didn't know what his expression was, but after a pause, he stood politely to one side, and she trudged to her room and almost collapsed onto her bed.

When she woke up groggily the next morning, she recognized that she was guilty as well as still tired. She hadn't told him where she was going, when she was leaving. She hadn't said goodbye, and then…well, she owed him more than that. Even after that little display.

She unpacked, and showered, and when she exited the bathroom in a towel, she found Jubilee on her bed.

'Hey, chica,' Jubes greeted, smiling. 'Didn't want to disturb 'til I knew you were up. But I want to hear all about your trip.' And Rogue grinned, and they were both chatting away when there was a knock on the door.

It was Logan, looking intense as usual, and disconcerted to find her not alone.

He stammered a little, and shuffled, swept a look round the room without really seeing it. And he looked surprised by everything, even, when he looked down, his feet. 'Did you sleep well?' he asked abruptly, roughly, and, truth be told, a little stalker-y. Jubilee's eyes popped, and she looked like she might want to laugh but wasn't going to dare it just now.

'Yeah,' Rogue answered, maybe a little too loudly. 'Sorry about how rude I was yesterday. I really need my sleep.' Jubilee gave her a pointed look, and Rogue knew she'd have to answer some questions later.

'I hope you had a good trip,' Logan gruffed.

This reminded her of how painfully he'd tried to praise her work-out ethic all those months ago. 'It was very good—expensive, tiring, Fun. I was just telling Jubilee about it.'

There was an awkward pause, and Rogue sat forward, in an attempt to bridge the distance of the room and asked, 'Did you need me to get dressed and do something for you?'

He shambled out the door into the hallway, still not looking at her. 'No, no. I just have something I want to discuss with you,'—he was now looking absently down the hall—'when you have the time.'

'Sure,' Rogue agreed.

He made quite a mess of shutting the door, and Jubilee was giggling by then, Rogue trying to shush her.

He still looked awkward, ill at ease, when she met up with him an hour later. And that made her bolder than she normally would have been.

'Can we clear something up, Logan?' she asked without preamble. He gave a short nod, and his expression was frozen, into what she wasn't sure. 'I work for you because I want to, not just because you make me.' She paused, saw him swallow, and she added, 'I mean, you make me do a lot of things, things I don't always enjoy. Work, right? But I don't do things I don't want to do. You can assume, if I'm here, I'm willing. Ok?'

When his expression remained frozen, she really hoped, she really began to pray, that this was it, what he was so uncomfortable about. She also hoped, as her speech echoed in her ears, that he hadn't pick up on some of that romance-novel-type language—eech! willing? make me? enjoy?—she'd inadvertently used.

He looked down at the papers on the table in front of them and rearranged a few of them and cleared his throat, and darted a few glances over his shoulder at her. 'Ok,' he agreed, nodding to the papers. 'We have to decide what we're doing about this.'

We, huh? She focused, and stood on tiptoe to peer over his shoulder, until he shifted to give her room, and when she crept in closer, he slanted her a soft smile. Well, she figured whatever it was, he seemed over it now.

'Are these applications?' she asked, shuffling through the papers. She picked up a packet of papers. 'These are applications for admission at the school,' she repeated, her eyebrows raised in question.

'Yes,' Logan confirmed, rather unhelpfully, she thought. 'I don't know what to do about them.'

'Well, isn't there an admissions committee or person, or is that just your job?' Rogue asked. I mean, the school must have done this before now.

'I think it's just me,' Logan explained, surveying the materials. When she raised her eyebrows at him, he continued, 'Scott and the Professor did it last year.'

Rogue looked helplessly at the masses of papers before them, and quailed. 'I think you need to ask the Professor what his plans are, before you even start on these,' Rogue gestured.

Logan's gaze was sharp, and Rogue felt a little above her station saying it, but she'd observed, and well, she'd wondered. 'I mean, I don't know what the budget looks like, but I know that the school depends on the Professor's money. And, he's…withdrawing from everything: the school, his political ambitions, the X-men team itself.' Rogue slumped as she looked at the piles of work in front of her. 'At the very least, we have to know if he wants to commit to another class of students, I think. And if so, how many.'

Logan moved closer, and Rogue murmured, feeling a bit disloyal to Xavier, 'He may just be done, you know? That's the way he acts. Like he's had enough. Or, like he doesn't know what to do now.' And she understood that.

'What would you do now?' Logan asked.

She regarded him swiftly. 'Me? What do you mean?'

'If you were running the school, what would you do?'

She proceeded cautiously, 'You're running the school pretty well.'

'No, not that,' he brushed that off, impatiently. 'If you were Xavier, if you were thinking of the entire enterprise, the X-men, everything, what would you do?'

Rogue thought for a moment. 'Well, actually, I think…it's pretty vulnerable.' She eyed Logan, to see whether it was allowed to continue in this vein; he just nodded. 'I mean, this school—' she gestured round—'is supposed to be secret? Secretly mutant? But, on a single visit, they'd learn the truth. Xavier and the school would lose all credibility.'

She paused, gave a disapproving chortle. 'And the X-men? Dear, God, if that ever got out! Vigilante mutants using their powers, just like the world's always feared. Humans'd be scared…and it'd be understandable.' Rogue paused, her eyes screwed up in anxiety. 'And the X-men would eventually be traced back here—unique powers, teachers at the school, Xavier's special school.'

She glanced up at Logan. 'Actually, that's what I'd do. I'd come out. Not the X-men—that's got to remain a secret—but a few mutants, especially Xavier. Prove how useful mutants can be by working with law enforcement. I don't know—' she waved frantically in the air, not wanting to break the flow—'find a missing child, locate a murderer or something. High profile, cable news. '

She blinked at the wall, concentrating fiercely, 'Use the school. Make a recruiting video— school as public service, handling dangerous teen mutants; encourage military and government recruiting for grads, career partnerships. You know, PR. Get positive with this mutant thing!'

She wound down to find Logan grinning at her hugely, and she tried hard to fight the embarrassment she felt. 'Hey, you asked,' she reminded him without heat.

He chuckled, 'I did, and you went with it.' He enjoyed her discomfiture, ignored her eye roll. 'No, actually,' he sobered, 'I think you should tell Xavier.'

'What?' Rogue was horrified. 'I'm not going to tell him that.'

'Why not? It sounded good. As you said, Xavier doesn't seem to have a plan right now.'

Rogue wanted nothing to do with that, so she pursued this opening. 'Yeah, so you need to talk to him, find out if he has a plan, and what to do with these,'—and she inclined her head to the table again.

'Yeah,' Logan agreed, surveying the mess. 'Want some light reading?'

Rogue laughed wryly, 'I do believe this falls under the category of not-my-job, buddy boy.' He raised an eyebrow at her, paced the room with excess energy. 'Talk to Xavier. We can't do anything til we know more.'

He nodded and grinned at her, still moving about restlessly, and she was suddenly uncomfortable just standing there. 'Want me for anything else?' she queried, and he shook his head.

So she smiled a goodbye and left, feeling…she didn't know.

Certainly not the unease left over from their hillside conversation. Or the guilt of this morning. Not quite the respectful forbearance and distance, the slight resentment and warm affection she'd felt when she'd started working with him.

She felt those things still, she supposed, but it wasn't the dominant impression anymore. She wondered whether—well, she was going to stop wondering. Look where it had gotten her today.


	5. Plans and Missteps

**V: PLANS & MISSTEPS**

She didn't hear anymore about the applications or Xavier for three weeks. She went back to the normal semester stuff.

Then, at lunchtime in the cafeteria, Logan motioned her over to him at the teacher's table, and he asked, impatiently unloading her tray (so she was dining with him?), 'Hey, what are you doing next year?'

'Um,' she began, oh-so suavely. She sat with a bump, busied herself with her arranging her plate some more, and when she'd done, she found Logan still waiting, the eyebrow cocked. 'I guess I don't know. Haven't thought about it.'

'Well, you should,' Logan retorted. 'College, classes, job, here. You should consider your options.'

'Uh-huh,' Rogue nodded, now wishing she wasn't stuck sitting here to eat.

'Seriously, Rogue,' Logan chided, sounding absurdly more like Storm or Hank or…Scott, yes, Scott, than his normal self, and at another time…'You need to plan—'

'Was there a reason you brought this up?' Rogue ground out, casting him a dark glance.

That seemed to get through to him, and he settled back in his seat, grinned at her wolfishly, the old Logan again. 'I talked to the Professor,' he explained. 'And we're looking for recruits for next year.' She nodded for him to go on—she knew this—an entire freshman class would need to be picked. 'X-men recruits,' he clarified, 'and Rogue, we were wondering if you wanted to be part of the team.'

Oh! oh. 'Um, Oh,' she got out, again with the oh-so suave. He seemed to want more of a reaction than that. 'You want an answer right now?' she nearly hissed.

'No, no, you should think about it,' he assured her. He took a serious bite of his lunch, swallowed forcefully, murmured, subdued, 'You should consider all of your options, what you want to do.' Then a pause, turn to her fiercely, brows forbidding, 'But I want you to know that we want you, if that's what you want, too.' And he gave a gruff little nod. She was too confused to figure out what all those mixed signals meant.

They made very bad and awkward conversation over the rest of their lunch. He veered from overly-attentive (nearly knocking over her milk to pass her a napkin) to sternly uncommunicative.

Rogue watched her friends eat at their table across the cafeteria and gave them a pathetic little wave.

In thinking about it, Rogue had a lot of questions. Like: seriously? And: what did being an X-man require? How many missions? Was it more like a Magneto-is-planning -Armageddon-so-yeah-we'll-risk-our-lives type of commitment? Or were they regularly playing Russian roulette with their lives?

And really, why her? What powers did she bring to the table, what was she supposed to do for them?

Also, questions like, what would she do on Tuesdays? (Did she get paid?) Live here?

Did she want to stay? Really? What did she want to do with her life?

When she arrived at that line of questioning, Rogue stopped thinking.

She was invited to a meeting with Xavier, and it was a serious meeting, with serious notice, scheduled at a serious time. Rogue found out that Kitty and Jubilee were also coming, and they puzzled over it a bit together, and shrugged and waited for the day.

In fact, the meeting was bigger than they knew. Bobby arrived on the Friday before with a small duffle bag and a lot of swagger, and Kitty squealed and Jubilee and Rogue punched him playfully a few times: 'Why didn't you tell us?', 'Where ya been?', and Bobby dug out a bottle of vodka that he'd snuck in, and they drank screwdrivers in Jubilee's room and talked about college and the mansion (and girls, of course) well into the morning.

A few more overnight guests had arrived, too, and the conference room, with its long table, was crowded when the four of them shuffled in the next morning. There were little booklets, face down at every seat, and the entire faculty was there, and Xavier welcomed them, as they trickled in, invited them to take some coffee and donuts down at the end.

As everyone shambled through the makeshift food line, Rogue noticed that the Professor looked authoritarian as he hadn't in a long time, and she observed how full of suppressed energy and weighty matters the other members of the faculty were. And was that-an overhead projector? Jesus, this really did call for food, and she snagged a coffee and two donuts, and seated herself at the table.

Yes, it was a Power Point presentation, the meeting a recruiting effort. Xavier wanted 'fresh blood' and a 'new vision' of the future for the X-men, and he wanted to 'move forward' now, stop looking back.

Rogue pawed through the booklet in front of her as Xavier talked: commitment to the cause, solidarity, secrecy, vows to protect human and mutant life, support and growth of the school. Then—hmm, interesting—the soft sell: salary (w/ or w/out room & board), health insurance (no dental), access to fitness facilities ('state-of-the-art weight room, complete with aerobic fitness machines; instructors versed in grappling, weapons; world-class Danger Room with high-tech simulations'). Rogue raised an eyebrow, looked up to find Logan watching her intensely.

She tossed him a bemused grin, and he frowned in disapproval. Wasn't this a little funny? A little ridiculous? This was a small organization, and everyone here knew about the X-men already. Did they need this kind of vague information, this idealistic, fervid sell on the idea?

Rogue wanted to know what this 'new vision' was. What would she be doing—what would they be doing, that would justify so many new members? And how much input would she have in what the organization did in the future?

The lights went up, and Xavier somehow managed to look tall in his chair. 'Any questions?' sonorous tone.

Cue the awkward pause, and it was, surprisingly, Kitty who said what Rogue was thinking: 'Um, yeah…so what does that mean?'

Xavier blinked, asked if Kitty could clarify that.

Across the table, a man with red glowing eyes, perhaps slightly older than the rest of them, leaned forward and stated with charming insouciance, a thick accent, 'We hope to know…what we do when we do not save ze world?'

Xavier actually laughed at that, a rich, booming sound, and Rogue found herself smiling too, delighted that, if nothing else, she saw Xavier come alive again. His twice-weekly history lectures were consistently the most boring of any hours she spent.

'Good point, Mr. LeBeau,' Xavier chuckled. 'Well, we need teachers: two, at least, in the next few years. We're using fellows to fill in the gaps, but the X-men organization would be willing to support future teachers while they earned the proper credentials. I have a special recommendation for Kitty in that capacity.' Rogue saw Storm tilt her head obligingly, saw Kitty's quick blush.

'Other than that, we need field men, researchers, and strategists; in fact, we need people who are trained to do all three. The X-men organization is at a crossroads; we need to decide what our goals are in the current climate, and how we wish to proceed.'

Xavier paused there, surveyed the group. 'Any ideas?' He gestured expansively.

Jubilee broke the silence. 'Well, the ultimate goal is protection for mutants, right—an amendment or law or something?' She eyed her way around the room. 'So, I mean, it would help, right, if we had someone to deal with the situation politically again.'

Bobby flipped a pen absently, smirked a little, 'Someone to go to Congress, sure. But we're not going to do that.'

Xavier was nodding sagely, and redirected, 'But it was a good point. Someone will have to lobby for the school, for mutants, and we,' he ducked a glance at Storm, who was beginning to take notes, and Hank, 'will be deciding who that will be, shortly.'

Storm looked down at her paper, then up at Xavier calmly. 'I think we need to create more awareness of mutant issues.' She paused significantly. 'Exposing some of the lab facilities, getting hard information on mutant experimentation and abuse—I think that needs to be one of our long-term goals.' That was actually a good idea. Even Logan, whom Rogue expected to react in some way to the mention of the labs, just flexed his fingers, rubbed his knuckles, and nodded in agreement.

The red-eyed man, LeBeau, shook his head, leaned back in his chair and puffed, 'It is taking more dan zis. Labs, to find and 'expose'—he made quotations marks in the air—'zis is years, zis is much danger. Also, who does not care when mutants are tortured?' He gave a shrug, slumped in his seat some more, a twisted smile on his face.

Xavier mused a bit on that, but Logan inserted, 'Rogue actually had some thoughts on a PR campaign…might help with that.' And all eyes swiveled over to Rogue; she darted an irritated look at Logan, swallowed, and probably looked as uncomfortable as she felt.

Last fulminating glance to Logan, she explained apologetically, 'I don't—it was just an idea. But, you know, help law enforcement or something with our powers—missing child, escaped murderer. Show how being a mutant is a good thing, a helpful thing to society.'

Logan nodded shortly, turned brusquely to Xavier. 'Secrecy is our vulnerability at this point. The school and your abilities—they could be a net positive if it was handled correctly.'

Xavier mused, held a hand up to his chin, 'A two-pronged approach—making mutants sympathetic whilst making their detractors abhorrent.' He nearly grinned. 'That sounds like a plan.'

The table kind of murmured, Storm nodded up from her scribbling, and Xavier motioned to the others, voice raising with authority once more, 'I'd like to thank you all for your time and input, and I hope we've given you enough of an idea about what we do here. You were invited here because you were all considered valuable to the X-men team, and I hope you will take the time to consider our offer.

'Enjoy the amenities for the rest of the weekend, and if you have anything you'd wish to discuss in private, please don't be afraid to do so. I'm going to ask that we have your answers in the next few weeks. Good luck.'

Xavier didn't stand, but he wheeled back from the table, and it had the same effect. In two's and three's, they herded out of the door, the immediate chatter comforting in its anonymity. Storm and Hank remained patiently seated and waiting by Xavier, as though to discuss some more, while Logan eyed each of the recruits as they shuffled out the door.

Rogue brandished her packet at him, and left with Kitty and Jubilee.

How to frame a response to a meeting like that? Well…

'So then that happened,' Jubilee bust out with as they traversed the hall, and she and Kitty lurched forward, in repressed laughter.

'Yeah, you are definitely not becoming a field man,' Bobby shrugged, his gaze encompassing Rogue and Jubilee. 'Researchers, maybe.' He leaned forward to flick Kitty's nose. 'Need some glasses on you, teach.' And poor Kitty ill-temperedly slapped his hand away.

Jubilee wasn't paying Bobby much attention. 'I'm an X-man!' she hissed, crouching in a Charlie's Angel pose, her arms forming the 'X" in front. Kitty groaned, and Rogue shot back, 'X-Marks the spot.' More empty giggles.

The four really weren't headed anywhere, just walking, at a fairly tight clip—escaping, maybe. LeBeau flatteringly ogled them as they passed, leered a little, winked. Jubilee purred, 'Hey, there, hot stuff. Let me make your eyes glow.' Bobby rolled his eyes, muttered something about 'girls' and stomped off, while Rogue and Kitty tugged at their overly-familiar friend, reproving her in pained whispers. They could hear LeBeau's rattled laughter as they ran the last few steps to the exit, spilled outside onto the grounds.

They spent the rest of the day—of the weekend—horsing around, carousing, and making fun of the X-men, much more than if they weren't considering joining up.

It felt a bit like a junior holiday, and they drank again that night and had drunken fun (even, Rogue suspected of some, drunken sex). Bobby did sulk a bit, but that was Bobby, alternately dismissive, macho, and charming. They hung out with the other recruits and dissed each other and shared intimate things that could only be shared with strangers. And Rogue couldn't find anyone discussing the offer; if anyone visited with Xavier, it wasn't common knowledge.

But for all that, Rogue knew that Kitty would pursue the teaching path, and that Jubilee would probably cut community college down part-time to be a researcher. And she supposed that even Bobby, when he finally outgrew this uber-cool, rebellious phase, would join up, to be a leather-clad X-man and field man.

She just wasn't sure of herself. Because she could envision herself living this kind of life; she could be good at being an X-man. But she didn't know about building a life here, a meaning here, like Storm had. She was much better at agreeing to stay today than knowing she'd stay tomorrow, and well…she didn't know.

Logan, oddly enough, was the only other person at the mansion who wasn't sure of what Rogue would do. He brought it up nearly every day—while they were prepping for class, while waiting in the lunch line, even once while she was puffing on the treadmill—and then he would almost immediately change the subject on her, encourage her to think of her options. He needed work as a salesman.

But everyone else, from Storm to Kitty to Xavier himself, was sure that she would agree to stay. Ultimately, it was that assumption that was hard to work against, and so Rogue found herself, about two-and-half weeks later, signing a contract with Xavier, with the stipulation that she could only commit to two years.

Two years. She could do that.

And, as the school year began to play out, and the new recruits began to shuffle in, and the organization seemed revitalized, she found herself wanting to do that. For now. For the next two years…at least.

Technically, she was a researcher/strategist, and as she'd come to learn, the only recruit given the strategist slash. The weekly strategy meetings were run by Xavier with Storm, Logan, Hank, and the school's counsel—and Rogue, evidently, as the Recruit Strategist Liaison. She'd glanced sharply at Logan when she discovered it—surely his doing? she hadn't asked for favors!—but his expression had been unfathomable, and she was prompted for an opinion, and she had to let it go.

The gauche feeling eventually passed, and she found that she actually enjoyed it, the brainstorming, the deciding. They fleshed out the coming-out campaign (Xavier, this summer), the saving-a-child media blitz (had to be summer, next, after cultivating local goodwill), assigned research and field jobs, future and present, discussed political rumblings. Great fun, strange to say, and Rogue appreciated using that analytical part of her brain again, after a year without classes.

As a matter of fact, Logan suggested that she sign up for distance learning courses, possibly build up to a bachelor's degree. Kitty was earning her first-year credits that way, and, as Xavier was willing to loan them the money against future earnings (federal grant deadlines already passed), she figured she couldn't really justify turning it down. She signed up for basic English, math, and science in the fall, and figured she'd see how it went.

At least she knew what she was doing next year.

The recruits trickled in, though some wouldn't arrive until the fall. Rogue, Kitty, and Jubilee weren't technically recruits until their fellowships expired at the end the semester, but that didn't stop Logan from training them every night.

Rogue far preferred to train with company. It was so much easier to mock Logan, to tell him no, get his back up about something. And Jubilee was a terrible but diverting influence, and by far the ballsiest and most outspoken of the group. Training was almost fun. Almost.

Rogue didn't think that Logan preferred it. He was in a permanent snit, which teasing only exacerbated, and it sometimes spilled into school time. He yelled again, not in the disappointed way, the forgetful way, but in the exasperated way. He berated, he could say petty and cutting things, and Rogue was constantly flinging at him in amusement: 'Logan! Get. A. Sense. Of. Humor!' He didn't, and that made it funnier. Well, whatever, the girls had a semi-wonderful time, and if sometimes that meant particularly grueling workouts, then that was the price they paid. All the better for it, and whatnot.

Graduation seemed to sneak up on everybody, but it was a pleasant surprise this time, really a celebration. Xavier threw a school-wide party for the graduating seniors, and due to last year's antics, faculty and fellows were required to supervise. Logan and Rogue ended up standing patrol at the punchbowl, and she even got Logan to loosen up (by a well-placed elbow to the ribs) at the enthusiastic way the students were singing 'Y.M.C.A.' Rogue decided to replace last year's graduation memories with this one.

'Hey,' he nudged her as the song died. He was almost inaudible, and she nearly dismissed it, until she noted his squared posture, alert profile, his tight hands behind his back.

'Hey,' she echoed, playfully, questioningly, bumping him back.

'Do you realize it's been a year?' he asked, gazing out at the middle distance. She aimed a quizzical look at him, and after a moment of silence, he actually glanced down, clarified, 'Since graduation. Since you learned how to control your skin.'

Rogue's brow contracted, remembering, but she contradicted, 'No, no. Graduation was July, remember, and it's only May now. And actually,' she continued archly, 'that was when you learned that I could, not when I learned.'

He cocked his head, frowned. 'So when did you learn to do it?'

She held up her hands, peered at them. 'I don't know,' she realized. 'It must have been spring—I went outside at one point and saw tulips, I remember. And—it was late when it got dark—after daylight savings, maybe?' She studied her hands some more, flexed the fingers, until he suddenly grabbed one.

'I don't know how,' he griped stiffly, tracing a finger, 'you could forget something like that.' She wondered, the thought popping into her head inappropriately, if he knew the exact day when he woke up in the forest, alone, naked, without memories.

Her fingers twitched a little, and she could feel the charge from his touching up her arm and fingers, and she wanted to curl her hand in a fist, stop the sensation. 'Well, I didn't trust it. Not for a long time,' she explained, her voice a little tight, and he flicked discerning eyes to her, let her hand drop.

'Well, it must be a year by now,' he commented, and the tone and his expression were hard to read. 'Congratulations.' That was soft and warm, and she couldn't help the kind of blushing/smiling that was happening in response, so she turned it into a theatrical bow, a fluttering hand to her chest, southern simper, 'Why thank you, sir.'

He obliged her, more out of affection than amusement, and let her turn eyes back to the party, the punchbowl, but she could see him still watching her from the corner of her eye, and after a few charged minutes in which she decided she wasn't nervous, he reached out, brushed aside the white lock, just barely traced the skin.

She looked up a question at him then, but he turned back to the party, and well…that was that.

Summer started, and the students left and the building warmed. Rogue and the other recruits trickled in, ready to experience the thrilling life of the 'X-men'.

Data entry. Rogue's job was to look for unusual accidents and/or crimes that might be mutant-related. What did she do if she found one? She flagged it. Oh, yeah, baby. Yeah.

It was all part of the larger mission to collect information on the political and legal climate for mutants, in preparation for the PR offensive. Xavier was going to come out within a few months. Letters were going out immediately, to allow students and parents to make the choice, and inform parents about how they could get involved and support the school.

Ororo was putting together an advertising budget for next year. Hank, evidently a closet politico, was gathering pertinent information on lobbyists, congressmen, department heads. He contacted the ACLU, suggested forming a PAC. He was surprisingly gung-ho.

When things got a bit more settled, when the backlog of newspaper articles and contacts were gone through, the recruits were going to get to choose their own projects, dealing with the press, researching anti-mutant crimes, or conducting field intelligence. But not yet, and so their only assignment that wasn't bone-crushingly dull was the training.

The training was just bone-crushing. Logan added hand-to-hand combat/grappling to endurance and strength training; it came to about four hours a day; that would be 1/6 of her life, if you were interested; ¼ of all waking hours.

Rogue had long since lost any joy she'd ever felt in baiting Logan, and she found herself just not liking him very much: his professional manner, his brusqueness, his harsh demands, casual put-downs.

And he was especially harsh with her. She hated the hard way that 'Rogue' came out when he said it, when he'd thrown her again, when he was stopping her in the middle again—to try it over, do it over, do it again only right this time; it sounded so disappointed and scolding and didactic and cold. When she replied, 'Aye aye, cap'n' now, she meant it in the most painfully bratty way possible.

And really, why pick on her? She was better than any of the other girls. True, Jubilee had a bit of animal fierceness and unpredictability about her, but Rogue could still take her, due to her superior strength and greater experience. And she could take the boys, most of them, if she were lucky and quick and they surprised. And, damn it all anyway, when, precisely, were they going to be fighting to the death! Again, that is.

Remy was such a breath of fresh air when he strolled in late June. With his Gallic insouciance and laidback charm, Logan's demands just slid right off him. That he was additionally respectful and talented, well, that snapped Logan's tyrannical hold over the rest, and brought back the camaraderie that had been missing. It was the class vs. Logan, and Logan was losing.

Of course, Logan didn't help himself by dropping the professional manner, perpetually scowling…or snarling.

And Remy, by contrast, was charming, gorgeous, incorrigible. Jubilee expanded upon her outrageous flirtation with him, but it settled into a long-standing joke after about the first week. But Rogue found herself flirting, too; red eyes or no, the Cajun was pretty damn hot.

Rogue knew she had it bad when she was just grinning at Remy from across the room, in response to his nothing, his just plain grin back; knew she was going to be in trouble when Logan saw it, barked her name in his coldest, hardest voice, and she still couldn't stop smiling; knew it was very bad trouble when Logan marched up to her, slammed up to her, towered over her so that she had to crane her neck to see, and they were literally eye-to-eye…and the smile, which really had nothing to do with joy in pissing Logan off, was still there.

'Rogue,' he grated, in his lowest, growliest voice, and she found that funny, in an I-can't-believe-I'm-not-scared-when-he's-trying-so-hard kind of way. And while she managed to suppress the sound of laughter, he could see the deepening grin, the shake of her shoulders. His eyes narrowed to pricks, and she bit her lip now, because she was making a real, true, Scout's-honor effort not to smile, but it just wasn't working.

'Rogue,' he growled, so low that it was almost felt instead of heard. Oh, dear, she was in trouble now.

She nodded, eyes wide.

He swept her suddenly, floored her, and she fell on her back with a thud, mouth wide open, and actually a little banged up where her ponytail hit. 'You payin' attention now?' he asked in challenge, resting a booted foot on her chest and starting to press.

She nodded, but she was laughing in earnest now, loud and deep, a hand held to her mouth in a futile attempt to stifle it.

'Fuck it, Rogue! I can't teach if you're gonna make goo-goo eyes at the Cajun all day. Die on your own watch, see if I care!' Goo-goo eyes? Oh, dear, Logan, and she was rolling on the floor now, slapping the mats beside her, and the rest of the recruits were cheering her for getting them out early.

Unfortunately, it was not so easy the next day.

Logan booked the danger room and took them on one-by-one, and he yelled at them antagonistically and told them to use their powers aggressively, and they did. And one-by-one, he proceeded to…just beat the shit out of them, didn't even have to use the claws.

And by the end, he limped out, cast an eye over his recruits, and said, 'I coulda killed ya all today. And I sure as hell ain't the worst that's out there.' He wiped the blood from his lip. 'So you better decide if you wanna live or die, and get serious. You train on your own now.'

And as a pep talk, even one with reference to their impending death, it was pretty damn effective.


	6. Coming and Going

**VI: COMING & GOING**

They all trained, sheepishly, vigorously, on their own after a few days of recovery. Logan, after about a week, could be found down there, working out himself, and a couple of the students would ask him for informal sessions, pointers, suggestions.

Rogue didn't. She and Logan weren't…well, they were not not talking, but they were certainly not talking. Rogue, rather warily, kept her distance.

Apart from that and their boring data entry, the recruits found themselves breaking out of the school building every chance they got, usually exploring the surrounding countryside, or walking to the nearest small town, about seven miles away.

Rogue didn't. She didn't know why, but she felt…well, embarrassed, certainly, that she'd gotten them all in trouble, beaten up and bruised, but…like she needed her own company. Remy asked her out a few times, in a light-hearted way, willing to see if they'd actually do anything about their flirtation. And she thought about it, but it wasn't really what she wanted. When he gave up so easily, she guessed it wasn't really what he wanted, either.

So Rogue spent her time on her own personal project: finding a laboratory, one still in operation. Everyone was compiling data on bizarre things, things that might indicate a mutant presence or mutant activity. But Rogue wanted to actually find something, do something. It would make this summer so much more bearable.

She was checking military spending and budgets for strange entries, checking salaries paid against populations, and looking for suspicious medical spending at facilities without registered physicians. Not really supposing it'd reveal anything, and anyway, it was really too large a task, but…

And then, after about six weeks, she found something…a small facility in Ohio was budgeted as part of an Air Force base outside of Dayton but was nearly 100 miles away. The facility employed no pilots or officers…the occupations (30 salaries in all) listed were 'clerical' and 'administrative'; but the site was in the middle of nowhere…unless they were storing files there for some reason. But why? And why would that require a staff so large?

Also, their budget was at about $10 million. What the hell were they spending that on, when salaries only came to $1.5 mill? And then, cross-referencing government contracts with the facility's name, she'd discovered that at least $50,000 a year went to a medical equipment contractor, delivering goods (unspecified) twice yearly to the facility.

Rogue was able to find the architectural plans for the building (took her and cost her a lot more than she'd wanted), and it revealed a very large facility, two wings, a series of small containment rooms, and way too much plumbing for clerical work. Also, according to the plans, there was room for a 'back-up' facility generator. Again, what kind of administrators needed that?

She took it to Xavier, and he paused, and said he'd talk it over with the team, and a few anxious days later, she found herself in Xavier's office again, and she couldn't help bursting out with, 'I think we need to check it out.'

She saw Xavier hesitate, still no reaction from Storm or Logan, though Hank looked thoughtful. 'Yes, I think we do,' Xavier agreed slowly.

She swallowed. 'Let me do it.'

She saw an almost instant negation from Logan, and strong concern from Storm. Xavier spoke, though, regretfully, 'Rogue, I don't—'

'Yes, let me,' she retorted. 'I can do it. I can find out who works there, and if trucks go in and out, and I can get neighbors to talk to me, and I can get the information you want. All of it.'

Logan spoke then, harshly, 'This is no time to be vainglorious, kid. This thing's dangerous,' and he twisted to confront the others, infuriating her by speaking as though she wasn't there. 'One of us should go. Someone trained. She can't—'

She flashed roughly. 'Look at me. I can look normal. I'm young and female, could be a high school student doing a report, or a bored granddaughter, visiting for the summer, or a whole host of innocuous things that you, or Storm with her distinctive coloring, or Remy with his eyes, or—or—the Professor in his chair—couldn't get away with.'

She looked round at them, casting glances by turns pleading and aggressive. 'Let me go. I deserve this, it's mine, my research. And I can do it, I'm good on my feet. I'll be careful, and'—she took a deep breath—'I'm your best bet, too.'

Xavier turned to Storm, who was nodding consideringly, took in Logan's aggressive glare still resting on Rogue, and templed his hands, tilted his head to the side. 'I do agree with you, Rogue. You will not excite suspicion. However—' Xavier leaned forward, measured Logan's sneer and posture—'this is dangerous.' He paused, weighing her up. 'Take someone with you. I want you prepared, don't rush into anything, and under no circumstances are you to interfere.'

Logan looked ready to spit nails, an expression she'd never appreciated before, but he didn't interrupt, and Rogue thanked each of them and left.

She was trembling as she left the office, but it was with excitement. She didn't care what Logan thought—this was her project, her first recon assignment, and she was…well, she was going to find out anything she could.

She gathered maps of the area, located a gas station not so far away, a neighboring town with a local library. She had a car, Xavier's loan, and she was arranging to get Ohio plates. Storm had given her a cell phone, and she found a small motel off the interstate (busy, lots of traffic) about thirty miles out.

Rogue wasn't really sure what Xavier had meant by 'take someone': did that mean an X-man? She was only sure she didn't want Logan to come. In the days leading up to her departure, she had only seen him at a distance, enough to see his disgruntlement, enough to know he was still enraged and disapproving and a whole host of other things. So, she didn't plan on bringing it up.

In the end, she invited Kitty to go. She wanted another female (innocuous, easier to share close quarters), and Jubilee, while more fun and assertive, wasn't what she was looking for. She wanted malleable on this trip, someone who could be counted on to stay put while Rogue felt out the situation, someone who could always escape, if it came to that.

She laid out her plan to the Professor, prioritizing the goals of the trip: 1) confirm mutant presence, if possible; 2) determine the strength of security at the site; 3) identify communications; 4) check out the surrounding locale. Xavier okayed it. Storm gave her a few suggestions.

Logan was waiting at her bedroom door the night before she left.

She confronted him first. 'You don't get to do this,' she fumed, stamping into her room, letting the door slam, avoiding him by going to her drawers and packing. 'You don't get to come here now, and—'

He slammed down the top of her suitcase, and she shot up…not mutinously—she wasn't under his authority any longer—but the term might be an apt description anyhow.

'Shut up. Just shut up,' he bit out, and his expression was black but not as dark as she might have expected. He inhaled sharply in the prevailing silence, his nostrils flaring, then suddenly spun round, paced the tight confines of the room, swiveled back. 'I want to come with you.'

'Logan, absolutely no—'

'YES,' he asserted, invading her space a bit aggressively, but keeping himself in check.

She felt her ire rising, building and growing in her chest, spilling over to her head, and pounding behind her eyes. She suddenly felt that, yes, she had every right to feel this way, and the one who was clearly in the wrong, clearly to blame, was standing right before her. 'NO!' she shouted, all her vitriol and rage spilling out in the sharp word, her cheek quivering, and she saw, in triumph, in relief, in vindication, Logan's measuring glance, his subtle acknowledgment that she was going to fight this, resist this, more than he was bargaining on, more than he wanted to push.

He backed off a step.

And she, righteously now, pursued him, her voice low and driven. 'You don't get to dictate, to decide, for me anymore. I'm building a life for myself, and I don't have to run it past you, see if you approve.' She released the pent-up breath.

'I'm careful, and I'm safe. And I'm good, if you'd only bother to see that,' she told him, more steadily. 'I—…You don't have to protect me anymore.'

For a moment, he remained frozen in that tense, aggressive stance, squarely invading her room, eyeing her with intensity. Then he turned heel and left, the door SLAMMING behind him, the force causing it to bounce out and back a few times, and she could hear his long, clamping strides as he stormed away.

She told herself she wasn't guilty or repentant or…even thinking about it, as she rolled up some clothes and stuffed them in her pack. And she only had to remind herself of that a couple hundred times that night.

She and Kitty left the next day, and Rogue was so nervous that she pretty much lectured Kitty through half of Pennsylvania. Kitty eventually tipped a hand sardonically, 'Rogue, are you going to be like this for the entire trip?' And Rogue forced herself to snap out of it.

Actually, she grew more relaxed the closer they got—sillier, as well. They concocted bizarre backstories about their high school characters. Kitty was a baton twirler. Rogue didn't get near no baton twirlin', but she made mighty tasty apple pies, her momma's secret recipe. They had a little hilarious fun in this vain, and Rogue relaxed, felt that was the key to this trip—to be just girls, silly, fun, harmless. She was glad, again, that Kitty was along.

They checked in at the motel, paid in cash for two nights, headed on over at a slow clip to the communities surrounding the compound.

It felt like an extended period of hanging out, like those long summers back in Meridian. Rogue was able to make fresh and flirty conversation with the gas station attendant, and discovered that semis, 'full of I-don't-know-what', came comin' by a few years back, 'one after another, you know,' and 'compound brought out a lotta big SUVs, too—big gas guzzlers, good customers.'

Some neighbors were happy to talk to them, too, for their banal report on 'Country Life in Ohio'. They asked questions about phone services ('young Sawyer let 'em build one of them towers for T-mobile in his field out there—only service you can get'), and satellite t.v. ('it's only satellite here; no, dear, we don't get cable television'), and the quietness of the neighborhood ('Compound?—no, don't bother us any. Gotta lotta land to it. Even when they were building—five, six years back—we couldn't hear.')

Sometimes it felt like a school report, too, but then she'd catch Kitty's small smile, and they'd laugh like the school girls they weren't. She was enjoying herself tremendously.

They called Xavier that night, gave him a brief update, and typed up what they had learned. The next day, they were to go and hang out on the small abandoned road near the compound, pretend they were lazing the day away with their car, perhaps hike round a bit.

They got up early, parked in plain sight, Rogue sitting on the hood and Kitty nearby on the ground with sketch pads, concentrating on the vista of flat farmland before them. From their position, it was natural to look up when cars approached, even to wave in some cases, and no one stopped them. They counted (they agreed) 13 between 7:30 and 8:00, and they recorded the license plates, too.

A few more trickled in by 10:00, and they left the windows to the Jeep open, sketches visible, and decided to explore the sight a bit more. They trekked down, laughing and mock-chasing each other, around the compound, got the lay of the land. Rogue hadn't wanted to press her luck with a camera, but she took out a smaller sketchpad, marked in broad strokes. They spied a satellite field, three satellites, joked round and giggled, were able to glimpse the compound from a distance, and found the next county road over, hidden behind a shelf of trees.

It was about as much information as Rogue could ask for, and they lazily wandered their way around the other side and back to their jeep. The plan was to hang out for the entire day, see what the strength of the day and night shift, if any, was like, but approach no further.

They had just broken out some sandwiches, kicked off their shoes, and were laying out on some blankets on the hood of the jeep, when Rogue saw a young man approaching in lock stride. She carefully warned Kitty in an undertone, pressed her thigh to stay, when Kitty would have hopped off.

He was young and he was trim and he looked military. 'Ladies,' he nodded. 'I'm going to have to ask you to leave.'

'Sorry?' Rogue asked, wiping off her chin. 'Were we doin' somethin' wrong?'

'This is government property, and I'm going to have to ask you to leave here.' He looked briefly apologetic, and Rogue decided she might have something to work with here.

'Government property?' she asked, hopping down, looking around inquisitively. She gestured in the direction from which he'd appeared. 'Where?'

He looked more firm now, repeated that they'd have to go, and started to shepherd them into their car. Rogue swiped her wrist across her mouth again, gave her best worried expression, 'Gee, I'm sorry, officer. We didn't know.'

He murmured something about it not being their fault, and Rogue figured she could press: 'How'd ya know we were down here, anyway? Oh, my Lord, are we on camera, like on that 24 show?' she asked, looking around stupefied and thrilled, and primping her hair.

The officer harrumphed, and Kitty shambled in shyly, and asked, 'Or are you the one that waved to us this morning while we were sketching?' in a titter.

The young man blushed at this, and it was enough to confirm Rogue's suspicions that there were, maybe, a few cameras, but not precisely here. Someone had probably caught them during their trek, and this man, clearly not senior staff, had been sent out to send them away. Thank God for Kitty.

While they were being escorted into their vehicle, Rogue eyed him and made a decision.

'Well, I'm sorry, officer, for your trouble. We'll steer clear of here from now on,' she promised fervently, and he made stern noises in the neighborhood of 'see-you-don't'. Kitty was still smiling at him, besotted, and Rogue commented, 'Can we—can we offer you anything? Water? It's a hot day to be outdoors. Liable to get sunstroke, if you're not careful.'

He seemed determined to get them gone, a little irritated now, and he turned it down perfunctorily. 'Are you sure, officer? You look a little warm.' Rogue asked, going for injured schoolgirl.

He assured her he was, and Rogue suddenly flung the door open, darted out, calling, 'Oh! Forgot something!' and slapping down the road. As she wanted, he jogged after her, and, a little off-to-the-side, she crouched down as though searching for something. He bent down, too, and she stopped to look at him, turned her skin on—felt the buzz, near roar of it—and just brushed the back of his head.

He keeled forward, and Rogue heard Kitty call out in consternation from the Jeep.

''S Ok!' she called out, gritting her teeth, struggling to support his sagging body, making sure not to touch, while she dealt with the barrage of his memories, his visions. She heard Kitty approach and cried in a high pitch, 'WATCH OUT! My skin's still on.'

Her eyes were closed, but she could feel as Kitty supported the man, carefully laying him out on the ground. Rogue focused fiercely on standing, saw Kitty's worried face. 'Don't worry, I just grazed him. He'll be out for a few hours, at most.' She staggered forwards to the Jeep. 'He'll be fine there.'

Kitty stood her ground, glancing uneasily at him, then yelled after her defiantly, 'Won't he tell them?'

'Hopefully—sunstroke,' Rogue was able to get out, and Kitty, after a moment, followed. Precisely why Rogue brought her. 'You're driving,' Rogue muttered, tossing Kitty the keys and grabbing a notebook and a pencil tiredly. She tried to turn her skin off--off--but the effort was exhausting, and she slumped against the door, mumbled a warning to Kitty.

Until they arrived back at the motel, Rogue wasn't actually able to concentrate, the images hitting her so quickly, garbled yet vivid, that she couldn't do anything but let them come. But by the time they were settled in their room again, Rogue seated herself at the desk and began fiercely sketching what she saw, jotting down all information she knew in relation to them, focused on images of the compound.

It was fading fast, though, by about 6:00, the images were no longer clear, information about them not accessible. She pushed back from the table, rubbed her eyes tiredly.

'That was a huge risk,' Kitty said flatly, and she realized that Kitty had been silent and watching from the bed all this time.

She pushed the chair back, stood to apologize. 'I know. And I'm sorry I didn't discuss it with you first…but there wasn't time. And I felt that this was too big an opportunity to pass up.'

Kitty stood, too, and her expression, full of stern challenge, reminded Rogue that Kitty was growing up, too. 'How do you know you didn't hurt him? That he's not still out now? That he won't be in a coma for three weeks!'

Rogue's mouth turned down, and she recognized how much she had dared for this, how many factors she hadn't considered. She'd tried for a brief touch, but it wasn't an exact science, and she didn't really know.

'I know because,' she swallowed, because she hadn't known when she touched him, but she did now, 'his memories are fading, faded, and that means that he's conscious now and up. I only took a little.'

'They could be more suspicious of us than they were before!' Kitty pointed out.

'Yes,' Rogue acknowledged. 'But they probably won't be. They don't know about my skin, and that officer wasn't their best and…he doesn't know what happened, either.'

Kitty looked a little appeased, but folded her arms in front of her. 'They might know about mutants.'

Rogue nodded. 'It was a risk.' It came down to that, and Rogue had taken it.

Kitty tilted her head, narrowed her eyes, and stared for a long moment. 'What'd you find out?' she asked, indicating the sketches.

Rogue gave a small smile. 'Quite a bit,' she admitted. Or rather, enough.

She knew that the man she'd touched was a guard, one of twenty assigned to two daytime shifts, and she could see the layout of his beat, and the plan of the building. She could tell that there were at least five external cameras—from a bank of computers operated at a front desk somewhere—knew the security code to get in, all except one number. She knew the west wing well, and she knew that in the east wing, three scientists ran a lab that was not to be disturbed. She knew at least three people were served meals in cells each day, though the officer hadn't known much more than that. Unfortunately, no confirmation of mutants.

Kitty gave a tight smile, holding up one of the sketches to light. 'Well, I guess you hit the jackpot.'

'Or something like that,' Rogue answered wryly, holding up a hand to her head, wincing.

The touch reminded her that her skin was still on, powerful and sensitive, almost vibrating. In all that intense focusing, she'd forgotten, and she swallowed, guilty again, grasping for the switch. It was slightly easier now, but she couldn't quite make it take, make it work.

Shaken, she backed off a step from Kitty. 'I still can't turn my skin off,' she warned, and Kitty's eyes widened. She had always been more cautious of it. Rogue tried to reassure her, though her voice was a bit tremulous, 'Sorry, no gloves with me. Just be careful.' And Kitty nodded.

They needed to get back home, decided to leave that night.

They switched plates at the first rest stop in Pennsylvania, bought a newspaper, checked the headlines—nothing weird in Ohio. They kept track of neighboring cars, rather furtively. But no one was following them, and they'd paid in cash everywhere.

Paranoia aside, they were probably fine.

They called Xavier early in the morning, about an hour away from the mansion, and he was terse and concerned that they hadn't called yesterday. He wanted to see them as soon as they arrived.

All through their drive, Rogue had been fumbling for the switch for her skin compulsively, just missing, but about ten minutes away, recognizing in panic the bar that Logan sometimes frequented, she reached more desperately and was able to grasp it—off—OFF. And it was, as easily held as ever, as secure. The hum and buzz silenced, and she studied her hands in relief.

Kitty, driving, questioned her tightly, 'Off?' When Rogue nodded, she asked, 'For good?'

'I think so,' Rogue breathed, overcome with sudden fatigue, sudden peace.

'Good,' Kitty repeated, and after a moment, she felt Kitty rub the back of her hand. She smiled, grateful.

They were ushered into Xavier's office almost immediately. They explained all they knew, how it went down, proffered a few sketches. With Xavier and Storm and Logan examining the documents, Rogue and Kitty were left eyeing each other a little uncomfortably.

Storm, skimming, frowned, 'No confirmation of mutant activities?'

'No,' Rogue admitted. She didn't know how they could have found that out—but they hadn't found anything.

Xavier pawed through a few papers, bit on a finger musingly, but murmured, 'Looks suspicious. Something is going on there.'

Kitty darted an apprehensive glance at Rogue, who shrugged. Xavier looked up, eyes shrewd. 'You're sure you didn't hurt this man?' Rogue was aware of Logan's sharp interest, but she nodded squarely. 'And he doesn't suspect? You weren't followed?' Rogue shook her head.

Logan's piercing gaze was still on her, but she focused her attention on Xavier as he thanked them, told them there was a lot to go over, to decide. Was there anything else?

Kitty paused, darted an apologetic glance at Rogue, confessed, 'Rogue…couldn't turn off her skin at first. She—it took until this morning.'

Storm and Xavier exchanged glances, and Logan's expression settled into 'stony'. Rogue leaned forward, folded her hands, and admitted, 'Yes. After I touched the guard, there was…almost like a latency period. I was unable to control my skin.'

Xavier tossed his pencil down, leaned back from the table. Storm cocked her head in question, 'But you can control it now?'

Rogue moistened her lips, nodded. 'Yes, just as we were arriving.' She flexed a hand for them. 'It seems to be normal, now.'

Kitty was hunched in her seat almost, glancing uneasily from Rogue to Xavier; Rogue threw a gentle smile her way, in reassurance.

Xavier glanced from Storm to Logan, breathed in resignation, 'Alright, Rogue. My thanks to you and Kitty. I'll expect a full report by the end of the week.'

Short nods exchanged all around, and Kitty and Rogue gathered up their things, left out the door.

Logan followed her, out of the meeting, down the corridor, to her own room—just a step behind. She tossed her bag on her bed, tugged a hand through her hair and turned to find him planted there, contemplating the floor, looking like he was there for a while.

She was tired. She sat down.

He began to pace the room, restlessly, rather than nervously or angrily, and she conceded with a sigh that this was going to be a big thing—possibly a production—she needed candy or something.

She rose to find her stash, but he blocked her, caught her wrist. She glanced up at him warily—was he done with the pacing, ready to talk?—adopted a patient expression, a questioning one, and his hold on her relaxed into a loose clasp, a soft stroke, like those other times before.

His voice, though, was remote when he said, 'Did you know before?'

Enough already with the cryptic questioning—guessing was fatiguing. 'Did I know what before?'

He stroked up her forearm, thumb sliding past her inner wrist. 'Did you know,' he asked in a measuring tone, and she gritted her teeth, 'that you wouldn't be able to turn your skin off after you touched him?'

She was tired…of this subject, of him. Honestly, how often did he think she experimented with this? She was tired, and she would have been touchy, but his touch was disconcerting her. 'N-no.'

He studied her for a minute, as though weighing her answer, until his eyes were drawn back to her skin, to his hands stroking up her arms to her shoulders and down again, and they slowed and paused. He stepped forward a half step, and one finger lightly traced her clavicle.

'Would you have touched him,' his voice rumbled low, 'if you had known?'

'I—' her voice was rusty, garbled, 'y—yes.' Worth touching over, bring gloves, maybe, but… She was sure now that she had no idea what this was about, but his touch was driving her crazy.

His lip curled up, a little bitterly—sneering Logan. One finger continued to lightly trace her collar and lower neck, his other hand stroked indolently down her arm. 'It could happen again. What if the next time it never turns off?' His eyes were penetrating; one hand reached up to cup her head, tangle in her hair, and it was changing the pattern of her breathing.

She was trying very hard not to feel unnerved. 'Never use my powers or never touch again?' She tried to clear her head, cleared her throat. 'It's hardly likely to come to that.' She twisted her head to the side, tried to free it. His grip firmed on her nape, his eyes locked on hers.

He reproved her with just a word, her name, 'Rogue.'

She faced him, then squarely. 'Logan, what is this about?'

'Answer the question,' he returned. The question? He had come in here to ask her about hypotheticals? What happened to his anger over Remy or training or the recon assignment, or a host of other topics he might have in his backlog somewhere?

Where the fuck had this conversation come from? She frowned, irked, tired, confused, and … Whatever: the question…and, without much thought, she knew the answer. 'I would use my powers,' she admitted, slight edge. 'I don't…touch much anyway. I—I would use my powers.'

His thumb began to stroke her cheek softly, all at odds with his grim echo, 'Don't touch much.' His brows drew together, the thumb still stroking, and she found herself wishing, with growing dread, that he'd just stop this, stop now, because it was making her uncomfortable, jumpy, on the fringe of hysterical.

'Logan,' her voice tight with...with warning, fluttering hand to his, to ease it down, ease him away. 'What are you doing?' voice high and tight, tried to back away, but he was firm.

'Touching,' he rumbled. And approaching, too, closer. Pressing.

Kissing. Short, shocking bursts: Logan…Was. Kissing. Her. Firmly, determinedly, very decidedly kissing her, and she froze and nothing processed, because—because his lips were firmer and his whiskers softer than she would have guessed and he—it was overwhelming, the tang of him, the surprising heat of his body, his breath, the press of his fingers holding her firmly in place.

And she was suddenly jittery, flushing sharply, as she admitted how much she wanted it, how much she always had.

And then he drew back slowly, not hesitantly or regretfully, just firmly. He assessed her, his hands sliding down from her head to a looser grip on her shoulders, and…she thought she might be gawping, and she knew she was red. Logan…

His hands slid down her back, and she jerked, found herself arching into it, the shocking pleasure of it. She felt mesmerized, probably looked something far stupider, but she couldn't stop staring, stop noting all the things she now wanted, stop feeling all the things she'd repressed. To feel those whiskers brush her face, kiss that spot just behind his ear, run her hands through his strangely coiffed hair, feel the ripple of muscle and bone in his back, span his waist, watch his stomach muscles contract at her touch, just watch him, touch him. She wanted it all; she was scared by how much she wanted it.

But now…they had been still for far too long, and Rogue was suddenly terrified that it was all a mistake, or some sort of lesson, that he was taking it back…and she sought his face, swallowed uneasily.

He seemed to be waiting, with meditation, calculation, and she might resent how unaffected he was later, but now she was just desperate to change that, have it not be true, not now she had found it, owned up to it, discovered that she wanted it so much.

She quivered in his arms, almost helplessly, almost despising it, and he made another lazy sweep of her spine, and she couldn't help herself, arching up on tiptoe again, grabbing him this time, shoulders and neck, tangling her hands in her hair and tugging him down, and thank God he was kissing her back!

She was greedy to touch him, and her hands raced over his shoulders, up and down his muscular arms, and she couldn't get enough, of the feel of his taut body so different than hers, but he found her hands, cuffed them both in one of his, and made her forget she minded when he kissed his way down her jaw and throat. He sucked lightly, and she jerked, let out a moan.

He pulled back again, panting and intense, but the meditative look was worming its way back. She was ready to object this time, but his hand inched down to the bottom of her shirt, tugged it a bit, and she nearly smiled in relief, reached for his. Naked Logan: much better idea.

The tangle of limbs, the satisfying debauchery of the shirt flying off. She flung her hair back, reached for him again.

Every touch, every feeling was a shock, and she felt like she was doing nothing but reacting, to how good this could feel, how surprising, how nearly painful. She wasn't even aware her bra was off until she felt his thumb, and then the wet brush of his tongue, and it was good, so much, it was unstable, this feeling, and she wasn't sure if she could stand anymore. She leaned against him, over him, moaned low.

He rose, supporting her, and she loved the way she pressed, flush into him, such a good fit, with the delicious texture from his chest hair, his jeans, their skin. She found she was rocking her hips into his, trying to get more, not enough. She reached for his buckle, his fly, and he stilled her fingers, murmured something, kissed her, slow, deep, changing the pace.

She could feel him ease her out of her jeans while he did so, slide them down, rippling tremors, and unzip himself, and she closed her eyes, concentrated on the kiss, his lips and tongue, assured that he was doing what they both wanted.

He eased them apart by a step, but she padded back, nosed his shoulder and neck and made needy sounds while he found his back pocket, rolled on the condom. And then he turned to her, regarded her closely and cupped her cheek and pulled her in for another kiss, wetter this time, and she tugged him back on the bed and on top of her.

They landed with a bit of a bounce, and she may have bumped her head, but she couldn't care or remember, as his hands and mouth were suddenly there and touching her, tweaking her nipples and sweeping her stomach, running teasingly up and down her arms, molding her hips and legs. And she arched off the bed, mewled, 'Logan!' because he was touching everything except the one place she needed.

He halted, his breathing harsh, and his eyes fierce and dilated, his hair mussed attractively, and she could read on his face some sort of indecision. She didn't want indecision; she wanted action… And if…it had to be hers—distracted by the action of his Adam's apple, the stubble on his throat. She wanted to taste it, did so, nipped a bit, enjoyed the rumble of his rough groan. She pressed a rough kiss to his chin, bucked beneath him, and whispered his name again.

Action now, and he gripped her hips firmly, locked eyes, positioned himself and pressed into her. Her eyes screwed shut, and her head fell back, and she could feel herself stretching, arching, accommodating him. And it was so much more than—more—the pleasure and the pressure and the intensity, but still not nearly enough, and she locked her ankles round him, whimpered something inarticulate as he thrust into her again.

With every thrust, she was—more intensely—feeling, just feeling, and she had never thought what it was like to want something so much, only one thing, the focus, the yearning, and the desiring it—and all of the things it encompassed: his clutching hand beneath her hips, the rasp of his stubble, the nip of his teeth, the smear of his lips, the wire of his hair, the dampness of skin, the squeaks of the bed. She wanted that, only that, and him, him, and she'd never—she'd never…

She whimpered desperately, felt his fumbling hand, a large thumb press and rub over her most sensitive spot, and then she was convulsing and tightening round him and crying out, and he stiffened too and said her name and collapsed on top of her.

She nudged him tiredly, turned her head slightly, and noticed another spot she hadn't had time to kiss—the curve between neck and shoulder. Mmm, nice. She nosed him, inhaled the smell of him, them. On the sheets of her bed in her room. How strange.

He propped himself up on an elbow then, slid a hand beneath her head, and pulled her into a slow, sweet kiss, and she smiled into it. And when he broke the kiss, he closed his eyes, rested his forehead on hers for a minute, and she enjoyed the way they breathed together, even though he was heavy.

Very heavy. He rolled over to his side, brought her with him, and she was sleepily sated now…no sleep last night…very tiring day today…sex…Logan…

She think she—might be…falling asleep.


	7. After

**VII: AFTER**

She was glad he wasn't there when he woke up. Though she supposed she wasn't surprised; it had been six hours since…well, since she'd arrived at the mansion.

She showered and got dressed and supposed she should be thinking about what it meant, about what to do when she saw him again. But she carefully didn't think about that. She tied her shoelaces tight. She was hungry. She knew that.

She headed down to the kitchenette, snagged some food, downed juice, looked around. The school was always quiet in the summer, but she suddenly wanted company. She poked around a bit, was afraid to go looking too far, and settled down in the computer lab to write up a more formal report for Xavier. Couldn't even find Kitty there—slacker.

It was late evening when she pushed back from the computer screen. Might as well work out—she tied her hair back and changed her clothes and headed down to the fitness area.

She walked in on Logan—touching-her-kissing-her--her Logan—and Kitty and Jubilee, few other recruits, all paired up and sweaty on the mats, and she stopped dead, her breath catching in her throat. 'We're in the middle of a training session, Rogue,' Logan called. 'Come join us.'

So she swallowed and marched a bit woodenly over to the rest and tried to greet them normally. She drew herself up to see Logan's carefully neutral expression.

He drilled them and warmed them up, and had them sparring, and Rogue was distracted, knew she was doing very badly today, and Logan was calling her on it. 'Pay attention, Rogue,' he commanded patiently. 'Balance. Now you're planting yourself. Focus.'

She was frustrated and enervated and irritated, and she could feel how easily these could turn into vicious tears or vicious rage. What choices. She struggled to calm down. He was trying to show her the proper stance, and she was trying to pay attention, and she wasn't getting it; she could see in the mirror. Rogue saw Kitty's sympathetic glance, Jubilee's confusion, and she bit her lip, tried to clear her head. And Logan moved to position her with a light touch, and she noticeably jerked.

He frowned and studied her, and she had been working hard to keep the frown off her face, the pinch, but her eyes felt tight. He paused, and grasped her more firmly and adjusted her into the correct position, and had her practice the move again…a few more throws, a few more times. Then he barked, pivoting round to include everyone, 'That's enough for today. Head on over to the weight and aerobic room, if you haven't already.' And Rogue, hands resting on her hips, still panting, was grateful.

She did the weights first, because she dreaded them, and Logan was ambulating, and he came over to check on her a few times. But what she really needed was a nice exhausting run, and she swiped a treadmill and turned it up and enjoyed the mindless exertion of it.

She felt a lot calmer when she was done, the nerves run out. Jubilee stepped off at the same time, swigged some water, and threw an arm round her. 'Better tomorrow, chica,' she commiserated, giving a small pat. 'Glad to have you back.' Rogue threw a genuine smile at her, one that shriveled up a bit as Logan approached.

'Hey,' he gruffed, and she thought how volatile she still was if that was annoying her already. 'You done?'

She nodded, and moistened her lips, still getting her breath back a little. He nodded; there was a pause. And she thought darkly that this conversation couldn't possibly be more inane or stupid, unless everyone was to suddenly know what had happened this morning. She eyed him with irritation.

His eyes narrowed, but he spoke lightly, 'Good,' and he leaned down and kissed her, hard and quick, over almost before it was begun, but it made her stumble, her eyes dart round to the others, and she thought she might be ill.

'Come on,' he growled, oblivious or perhaps just uncaring, circling a wrist and pressing a hand firmly to the center of her back, and Rogue found herself marched out the door, the rest of the recruits eyeing them with avidity. And as uncomfortable as she felt with Logan right now, she was glad to be leaving after that display.

'Where are we going?' Rogue asked tightly, but he didn't answer, and she was being propelled up to the dormitories, past her room, and she pushed back against him, and he passed her without losing stride, tugged on her wrist now to keep her moving. 'Where are we going?' she gritted.

He called out over his shoulder sternly, 'My room.'

She dug in her heels, yanked back on her arm to get him to stop. 'Logan,' she reproved, and he stopped but hauled her in a bit closer.

'I said,' and he leaned in, he glowered, 'My room. Shower and bed and sleep.' It was the glowering that made it funny, just a tiny bit. What, did he think he could muscle her into…that?

She nearly smiled, covered his hand on her wrist, gently tried to pry it open. 'Logan,' she tried softly, but his brow contracted, he looked forbidding, so she went for reasonable argument, 'Logan, if I'm going to shower, I'm going to need my own things.'

His brow contracted more, in confusion this time. 'My lotion…? Conditioner? Change of clothes? A towel?' His brow furrowed, and suddenly, she was being tugged back in the direction of her room. He banged open her door, dragged her into her bathroom.

'What do you need?' he asked abruptly, growing bewildered as he eyed the array of products in the bathtub, the litter of bottles on the counter. 'What the fuck is all this stuff?' and he fingered the top of a bottle as though it might injure him.

'Hair products, leg products, facial products—'

'—Never mind,' he cut her off, and began sweeping stuff into his arms, some of them spilling out and falling, and he kept popping down to a crouch to pick them up and swooping up and spilling a few more, and she tried to calm him down, half-alarmed, half-amused. But he pushed past her, went into her room, snapped smartly round. 'What else do you need?'

'Logan—'

'Clothes? Towel?' And he began banging open her chest of drawers, so she nipped in beside him, grabbed a few things before he dropped everything, broke something. 'Done?' he chafed impatiently, and she nodded, and then had to rush to open the door before he fumbled everything and dropped it, had to jog down the hallway to keep up.

He shouldered his way into his room, nearly stormed into the bathroom. He wasn't really careful about dumping everything onto the bathroom counter, and several items rolled off. Her blush compact fell with a smack and a spill of pink powder everywhere.

'FUCK!' he yelled, and kicked the bathroom wall. Rogue eased in, considering what to do as he heaved in a breath, still facing the wall. Not good, not good, no room to pace in here. But within a few seconds, he'd turned abruptly and slumped down on the toilet seat. So she didn't have to deal with that.

She glanced about carefully, gingerly gathered up the products that had fallen to the floor, tidied up those on the counter. There was still a jar behind the toilet, but she wasn't going there. She swept up the major cakes of blush as best she could, sighed a bit, and after a long minute, she dusted off her hands, fidgeted with the bottles on the counter. 'Logan, would you like me to go—' He made a grab, snatched her wrist.

She guessed she had her answer. She shuffled in front of him some more until he looked up, his expression no longer angry or frustrated, just…sorry. With a touch of misgiving, she sat down in his lap, and his arm came around her immediately. They sat in silence a few moments, and Rogue rested her head on his shoulder.

She didn't really understand his anger, his sense of urgency, but she could feel it easing, hear it in his heart rate, his more even breathing. She nudged him gently, wrinkled her nose. 'So Logan,' she said, injecting as much playfulness into her voice as she could. 'I kinda had this offer of a shower dangled in front of me.' She couldn't read his still expression, and her uncertainty leaked into her voice, but she tried to keep the teasing up. 'And I'd like to cash in, because, frankly…I stink.'

Total lack of response, and she had to laugh—at her, at him, the idea of them—and as if reminded, he smiled raggedly back; but he was trying. So she persisted, 'I might even know of some shower gel to try. Cucumber melon or triple berry passions?' She waggled her eyebrows at the selection on the counter suggestively.

'Yeah?' he asked, his voice almost cracking.

She gripped him vigorously by the shoulders, shook him—snap out of it. 'Yeah,' she asserted. 'Because, mister, sorry to say, but…you kinda stink, too.' She got a half smile out of that.

She slapped his knee, got up. 'Come on,' she groused, pulling him up to a stand. He was looking better by degrees, and she was growing more nervous as a result, trying not to show it because one of them needed to stay sane, and this was a small room. Something about being here, in his bathroom, like this. Something about bathrooms…and shared rooms and...

But he was so—nearly lovable like this, too, so she decided to just go with it, and when he put his arms around her again, with hands that drifted to the small of her back, with that face that was still a little worried, a little uncertain, she couldn't help leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to his chest. And his arms tightened, and he tugged on her hair and tipped her face to his and kissed her back. Really kissed her, and to hell with the shower, anyway.

Yeah, that part was something she could go with.

There was no big talk. It just…happened, kept happening. Was happening, she guessed. Was there supposed to be a talk? Rogue didn't know that she really wanted one. Regardless of size.

It was a small school. Everyone had either seen or heard about Logan kissing Rogue last night, and she hadn't slept in her own room. And, if that wasn't enough to spell it out for them, then Logan's hand at her back at lunch, his irking proprietary air…well, that would have told the story anyway.

It distanced her a little from the recruits. Remy eyed her shrewdly from across the cafeteria that first day, seemed a bit disgruntled. Jubilee, well, she was hard to read. Rogue tried to approach her a few times but could never get her alone, and Jubilee was outrageous and brassy, flip in front of the others. Rogue figured that between Logan and selecting Kitty for the field assignment—well, Jubes might not talk to her for awhile.

Kitty was the most supportive, oddly enough—Rogue had thought her prudish. But she had misjudged Kitty again, who was reserved but casually friendly, and Rogue was grateful to keep one friend, at least.

The others—well, perhaps it wasn't fair to blame it on her relationship with Logan. She'd never been close to them, especially lately. But Rogue did feel she existed on some social island of her own. Because there were recruits and X-men, and she wasn't really either.

And even though she'd been solitary for most of the summer, isolation was an entirely different thing when it was a choice.

So she worked, following up on license plate leads and T-mobile cell phone coverage, and landlines, and construction permits in the state of Ohio. No confirmation of a mutant presence, but she discovered that one of the SUV owners was a biochemist with an emphasis in genetics and brain chemistry. Xavier ran with it after that, started sending out feelers to mutant sympathizers, teasing out investigative reporters, and Rogue got stuck with the never-ending task of looking for other possible lab sites…you know, since she'd 'cracked the code' so well.

Oh, whatever. She was dogged, relentless; she was trying to find something to do.

Logan started throwing work her way. Literally. The first few times, it was a polite chat, a 'hey, wanna try your hand at this?' type thing. But one day, he strode in, found her scrutinizing her monitor, and he clomped over, threw a file onto the keyboard. And it slapped her knuckles red, disrupted her typing.

'Here, we need you to find out all you can about this guy,' and he gestured to the papers.

She tried giving him a look, but he was already leaving, clearly in business mode, so she twisted in her seat, called out, 'What the hell was that?' And she held up the file, lifted a brow significantly.

'What?' he turned, preoccupied. 'I'm no good at that kind of stuff. You're much better with the search engines and whatever.'

'Would it kill you to ask, Logan?' she asked roughly, feeling the words didn't really convey how dangerous she felt.

'You're looking for work,' he protested, in a tone that said he felt ill-used.

'Fuck that! You don't just come in here and throw a file at me!'

He seemed to really register how angry she was now, started even, as though surprised, and she found it almost funny—hiLARious!—that he understood her so little. He took a few steps forward, halted, then broached her more cautiously. 'Ok, I'm sorry,' he frowned, but it sounded like an attempt to mollify. 'Come here,' he coaxed and he reached out and—

She was angry and incredulous. 'God, why would you think that would work now?' She shook him off, angry at herself, him.

She didn't like feeling like this, like she was pinched and tight and tetchy. She buried her head in her hands and could feel a bubble of laughter threatening that she was pretty sure would turn into a sob if she let it. She shook her head; calm down.

She was behaving irrationally, definitely overreacting. And she knew that she was taking it out on him—her insecurities, her isolation. Because lately, he had been annoying her when he did anything—kiss in greeting, guiding hand on her shoulder, opening of a door for her, not opening a door—and she had only this time worked herself up into enough righteous anger to let it out.

'I'm sorry,' she said, but it was muffled by her hands, so she pulled herself together and sat up straight and looked up at him squarely. 'I'm sorry,' she said more clearly. 'I'm…tired, and I—I don't like files thrown at me when I'm tired.' She attempted a small smile.

He was holding himself back, his expression impassive, his eyes guarded, and she found herself wondering, corner of her mouth cracking slightly, if she had really offended him.

He cleared his throat, sounded oddly formal. 'I'm sorry I threw a file at you.'

'Yeah, I know you are,' she returned humorlessly. 'I'm sorry I yelled.'

There was an awkward pause, during which they were unable to maintain eye contact, and so their gazes were dancing round the room, and Logan was shuffling, and Rogue was making yeah-so-well faces. Bored, ill-at-ease, Rogue picked up the file, toyed with the folder tab, and Logan muttered something and left.

Call that the apology that wasn't.

She made a real effort to be better to Logan after that. Because she could be honest with herself, when she needed to be, and she honestly—she wouldn't take it back, that morning after the mission, and she wouldn't do it again differently. And as much as certain things in her current situation made her uncomfortable, she didn't want the alternative, either. (And, no, she didn't feel that was too vague.)

So when she saw him, she let herself feel happiness in seeing him again, and smiled. And when he kissed her, she let herself lean in, enjoy it. And when he pulled her close, she let that be enough. She pretended in those moments that she really lived on that little island by herself, just Logan and her.

And after a while, Logan relaxed, too, and it was wonderful. She loved how he came up behind her in the shower sometimes, nuzzled her shoulder, and pulled her round to face him with that smile—full of mischief and desire and warmth.

She loved that she could surprise him by kissing him unexpectedly; his eager response then was flattering, too.

She loved that she could tickle him by twirling the hair on the back of his neck. She was actually really surprised and amused to discover that, and she loved how tickling him always ended with his mock-growling and her giggling and the two of them backing slowly to the bed.

She loved how different it could be, always was: sometimes passionate or languid, sometimes fierce or playful. She loved how his eyes could vary from darkest black to a caramel brown.

Of course—they weren't a little island, and Rogue actually found she was less comfortable with the other residents of the mansion as the summer wore on.

She far preferred it when she was by herself, interacting with others, because she could be just Rogue then. She had stopped worrying what they thought about just Rogue. But when Logan was there, too, she had to worry about what Logan was thinking about Just Rogue, had to act in a way that didn't bring that frown to his face, to keep it from spilling over into Logan and Rogue.

She especially hated the weekly strategy meetings now. The X-men didn't direct opprobrium at her or anything, but a pall hung in the air, a thick blanket muffling things unsaid. Or perhaps things said—had they spoken to Logan?—because he was stiffer with them, and they were more cautious with her. She didn't know. Hell, they could even approve, but no one was telling, her at least. She knew she felt wrong-footed and nepotistic and most uncomfortable with Logan being a witness to it.

She wanted to ask to be removed from the committee—what did they need with a Recruit Strategist Liaison that didn't, in fact, liaise with the recruits-that-no-longer-spoke-to-her?—but she didn't want to bring that up with Logan, because she had a feeling he wouldn't understand that, wouldn't approve that. And they weren't discussing things outside of their little island, anyway. Why disturb the peace?

She came to the conclusion that the less time they spent together during the day, the better off they would be. So she smiled a goodbye to him in the morning and busied herself during the day, worked out when she knew he wouldn't, and let herself be found towards evening. And he must have agreed, because he cooperated pretty well with that plan.

She was looking forward to the start of the school year again, if only for the distraction.


	8. Return

**VIII: RETURN**

She was restless, so she'd slipped out early for a run. He didn't like it when she slipped out, but then, she didn't like it when she woke up to find him watching her.

He'd been doing that more and more lately, and it wasn't one of those isn't-she-lovely gazes or the I'm-going-to-tease-her-about-snoring grins. No, it was a calculated, narrow look, and his morning greeting 'Hey,' always sounded like an accusation.

He couldn't object to a run. And usually, if she could get in the shower before he woke up, he would greet her with an indulgent smile or a soft nuzzle by the time she got out. Any later, and he was grumpy; it was all about the timing.

So she went out for a run just as day was breaking, ran out her nerves, centered herself.

Two weeks before school starts again, students return, and finally cooling off a little. The teachers were beginning to pick up the coming year's lesson plans, and the X-men had completed most of their data entry projects and were preparing to enact the year's long-term projects and more interesting goals. Full-timers got to pick theirs. Part-timers were assigned.

Rogue and Kitty and Jubilee were all part-timers, taking classes soon. Jubilee was assigned to help Xavier with his PR goals for the year; Kitty was Storm's fellow again. Rogue was working as a fellow, too, but a floating one this time. Xavier had 'freed' her because she was 'better' in the classroom. She had no idea what this meant, except that she had no assigned duties. Fantastic.

But the run—the run—the sky, the earth, the sweat. Fantastic.

Change would be fantastic.

So she was thrilled when she rounded the corner to the entrance of the school, and spied a figure on the bench just outside the door.

'Scott!' she nearly squealed, pleased and mystified and stunned all in one. She skipped up to him, wiped her sweaty brow and stuttered out an explanation for her appearance, before she just came out with, 'Glad to see you!'

He grinned easily, motioned for her to join him on the bench, and she seated herself, took the time to study him. He looked better. He had a few gray hairs at his temples, which surprised her, and he looked older, his mouth and brow scored now. But he looked rested, like he knew he had to take care to get rest now, like he was taking care. Maybe his grin looked unpracticed, but it looked sincere, so she smiled wide and told him he looked good, much better.

He chuckled rustily, eyed her up and down, and returned the compliment.

'So when did you get here?' she asked eagerly.

'Just now,' he answered, swinging an arm up behind the bench. 'You're the first person I've seen.'

'And you're just sitting outside?' she asked, puzzled.

He swung a gaze round to her. 'And working up the courage to go in,' he finished.

She didn't know how to respond to that, so she just informed him: 'Everyone's going to be so thrilled to see you again.' Even behind the glasses, she could tell he was studying her, and she wanted to reassure him. 'We've all missed you. Hasn't been the same since One Eye left.'

A slightly cynical smile twisted his face, and she wondered if she had been wrong before, if that was really his concern. 'You are…are you staying?' she asked searchingly.

He studied the flowerbed, mused with that twisted smile again. 'How's Logan?' he asked with a certain keenness.

She paused, her smile deepening slightly. 'He's good,' she said softly, then after a pause, she teased archly, 'He didn't do so bad, either. Didn't even burn your school down.'

Scott's smile was reflexive, and he was eyeing her with curiosity again. 'He told me,' Scott told her pointedly. 'He told me what you'd said.' She struggled, tried to decide if he meant what she thought, and he continued dryly, 'You saw me better than I saw myself.'

Disconcerting—Logan had told him—and for a moment she had no idea what to say. 'Does anyone ever see themselves?' she returned eventually. 'But…that's why you can believe me when I say that you are looking better than ever.'

He grinned in that fond way that said he didn't believe her but appreciated the effort, and asked after the others at the mansion. So she gave him a brief update, on the X-men, the school, the fellows and recruits, and he listened to her chatter with the wilted but patient expression of the recently recovered.

She wound down, grinned at him again, because she couldn't help it. 'Well, you'll see,' she grinned. 'Because even if you're not staying, and I think that you should, they'll all be pleased to see you.' He was like the symbol of how they had all survived.

And Scott grinned crookedly at her, and then grinned at the flower bed, and she thought she heard a soft, 'Thanks.'

She was about to ask a few questions of her own, when Logan, looking ill-tempered, poked his head outdoors, and she stood to beckon him forward, but he was already eating up the pavement between them, 'Rogue, where the fuck have you—'

'Logan!' she warned, but smiling still. 'Scott's back!' and she gestured enthusiastically, standing aside to reveal the man.

Logan turned sharply to encompass Scott's presence, his arm on the back of the bench, Rogue standing just in front.

'He's just arrived,' Rogue explained, and Scott eased his arm back and sat up straighter, almost fatalistically, and Rogue really hoped that Logan wasn't going to bring his anger or distrust, or whatever-it-was with her, to bear on Scott. Damn it, this was not the meeting she would have chosen.

Logan's jaw set, and he hauled Rogue in by the waist with one hand and put out his other for Scott to shake. Scott shook it, rather languidly, eyeing the pair of them.

There was a bit of an awkward pause.

'So you ever goin' in?' Logan nearly taunted, rocking back on his heels smarmily, and Rogue elbowed him in the ribs.

'Little bit,' Scott returned evenly, and Logan sneered. Rogue, closing her eyes tiredly, could see where this all was heading.

Time to separate them. 'We'll see you in a bit, then,' Rogue turned firmly, clamped down on Logan's hand at her waist and tugged to keep him coming. He was eyeing Scott darkly, in what was a rather hammy expression of menace, even for Logan. She yanked them both into the building, last wave to Scott.

'What the hell was that?' Rogue hissed, dropping his hand and stalking back towards the dorms. 'I know you're pissed at me, but don't take it out on him.'

He growled something inarticulate, and she rounded on him.

'I thought you'd got all this macho shit out of your system! This is not a year ago, and you've both changed!' she fumed, poking him in the chest. 'Stop! Just STOP! You made him a promise, to take care of his school. You do not get to go back on that and make him feel unwelcome.'

She blew her sweaty bangs off of her forehead, and could see in his face that his own temper was flaring, but she was on a roll. 'NO snarling, no pissing contests! There's nothing left to fight over, anymore! Get OVER It!'

'And besides!' she couldn't help shouting, even though it was an entirely different conversation, 'I should GET to RUNINTHEMORNING!'

And she stormed off to shower and left him, presumably, stewing in the hallway.

She saw Scott again in the kitchenette area at lunchtime, and everybody was gathered there. Well, everyone apart from Logan, and Rogue hoped he wouldn't approach Scott until he'd cooled down.

Scott did look a little overwhelmed, but also shyly pleased, and she grinned over the shoulders of Jubilee (who caught the movement, smiled shyly back), and grabbed an apple from the counter. And there were a lot of questions at once and a lot of ribbing and laughter, but it was so nice to hear again. It had been a long time since the camaraderie had been so strong—or since Rogue had witnessed it, anyway.

Scott was a little mum about where he had been all that time, but he'd traveled the country and read a good deal and found a small cabin to stay in, to spend the winter in. It sounded so much like Logan.

He was like Logan, but with that shy streak, the streak that made him defensive and sharp instead of fierce and angry; jaded and cynical rather than stern and menacing. But both men were hard to know, hard to love.

They were kind of going around and teasing everybody about how they had changed since Scott had last been here, and Rogue was fascinated (a little hurt, too) to hear some of the things that had gone on that summer.

Kitty, evidently, was a sly drinker now, got very…liberated in her cups; Remy and a bunch of them had driven to Canada (drinking age 19), and he recounted how impressed he was with Kitty's drunken dancing. Kitty blushed, stammered, took the ribbing pretty good-naturedly.

Jubilee, on the other hand, was settling down, might be done with serial dating. She'd been seeing a boy from her spring English class for over two months now. 'Steady,' Remy teased, inviting the rest to rib him for being a bit of a lady's man.

And Rogue was teased for her dogged work ethic ('Where's Rogue? That'd be the computer lab'), the trip to Ohio. 'She batted her eyes very convincingly, was a regular Southern belle,' Kitty told, and Rogue got in a few about how Kitty tittered.

'So no fighting, then, this 'mission'. Gotta get you in the danger room,' Scott jibed, and Rogue deprecated.

'Rogue's pretty fierce now in hand-to-hand combat,' Storm commented. 'Logan trained her well.'

There was a bit of an uncomfortable pause, and then: 'Trained her really well,' Jubilee snarked.

And that was like the prick of the lead balloon, the opening that everyone needed to discuss what no one would say, and then the comments were coming in thick and fast, and hilariously 'So, tell us how it happened, eh, Rogue?', 'How does he rate—scale of 1 to 10?', 'Does he growl in bed?' Uproarious laughter. And Rogue was blushing and stammering out nothing, but glad, really glad, that this was finally out of the way.

And then the laughter died suddenly, and everyone was staring behind her, and, with prescient dread, she knew Logan was there.

He wasn't looking at her, more the room, with scrutiny, and she couldn't read his expression. He walked to her stiffly, dropped a heavy hand on her shoulder and measured them all in stolid silence. And she…didn't know whether to address the Logan problem or the Room problem, so she remained frozen at his side.

She saw Logan's respectful nod to Scott, hoped that meant this wouldn't be bad.

'We were just discussing all the changes there have been since I went away,' Scott commented.

Logan nodded again, the hand on her shoulder repositioning to cup her neck, and there was another awkward silence. She knew she could make this better by teasing Logan somehow about how he had changed—something semi-private or even nothing at all—but she was drawing a blank, couldn't force herself to move. The whole room was looking at them.

Storm broke the silence, 'Maybe Logan's changed the most since you went away. He had the whole school on his hands,' she smiled warmly, 'Lotta pressure. But he got through it. Became a damn fine teacher, and even—' she turned it over to the room with an am-I-right gesture—'a damn fine administrator.'

'Yeah!' and the recruits burst into a bit of raucous applause, the faculty smiled bountifully, even Scott grinned roguishly. There was some histrionic whistling. Rogue peered up at Logan to see how he was taking it—not embarrassed but not amused, or much gratified either. He took it steadily, acknowledged it gracefully.

The noise died down, and Logan nodded significantly to Scott, 'It's all yours now.' His hand fell from Rogue's neck, and he excused himself and left the room.

Well, so that had been public, and that had been fine. She only hoped that was private and fine, too.

But she didn't know, they hadn't spoken, and Logan hadn't found her by the end of the day. And Rogue wasn't sure, between the way she had yelled at him this morning and Scott's arrival, that he wanted to be found.

But she needed to know where she was sleeping. Since the first night, they'd always slept in Logan's room, but he'd always ushered her in, invited her in, or they'd gone in together. So she wasn't really comfortable presuming, waiting for him there; on the other hand, she didn't want to send him some kind of message by going to her own room. So she searched him out, found him in the garden, smoking as she'd not caught him doing for several months.

'Hey,' she whispered, and wondered what it said about them that this was their standard greeting.

'Hey,' he exhaled the cigarette smoke in a tight plume, but made no other move. So she planted herself next to him, wrapped her arms around herself to keep out the cool.

'So Scott's back,' she breathed to the night, because he was at least part of the problem.

Logan sucked in another wet puff. 'You gotta knack for statin' the obvious—' he derided. She could almost feel where 'kid' was left off that sentence, and she wondered, with a jolt, if this was it, the moment when he decided they were done.

She adjusted her shoulders, shifted a little. She was a big girl, and she could—she could take it. He was a big boy, though; he would have to say. So, she plowed on, a little more stridently than she might have, 'Are you sorry?'

He studied her from the corner of his eye, transferred the cigar to his other hand deliberately. 'Sorry?' he echoed.

She turned to face him, arms crossed from the cold, but it worked for her mood as well. 'Sorry. Sorry he's here. Sorry to give up the school,' she persisted.

His lips parted slowly, his expression stupefied, not like he was unsure of what he felt, but like he was unsure of what to say. Finally, he settled on, 'No, I'm not sorry to give up the school.' Which confused her because that was relatively simple to say.

She had a feeling they were talking at cross-purposes, so the next came out a bit belligerently. 'It was good of you to say that in front of everyone today,' she commented.

He blew out a stream of cigar smoke expressionlessly, but managed somehow to make it look like a repudiation.

She was just about done with this conversation, but thought she'd give it one more chance. 'So what else?'

'What else, what?' he echoed again.

'What else, you're out here, you're smoking, and it's not Scott, so what else?'

He heaved out a sigh, rolled his eyes with exaggeration. Then he was grumbling and tamping the cigar out with his hand, a dreadful sizzle. He tossed the cigar away, flexed his hand at her proudly as the burn healed. She backed up a step, appalled. 'What? No more smoking,' he shrugged innocently, flashing that slanted, gritty smile.

'Are you trying to be a smart ass?' she asked, backed away, flapping her hands. 'Fine, smoke, whatever. I was just trying to talk to you.' She turned to go back inside.

'Wait, Rogue,' he called after her in that tired don't-take-it-that-way voice, that I-just-didn't-want-to-talk tone.

She gave a paltry wave behind her, choked out, ''S fine. Whatever.' And she continued back to her own room.

That really could have gone better.

She woke with a start, sitting upright, and it was strange in her own room again, slightly stale.

She held a hand to her throat, calming herself, and, as she became accustomed to the darkness of the room, she was puzzled by a form in front of her window, was startled when she saw a movement.

'Logan?' she quavered, and made him out slumped on the chair. He lifted a few fingers, remained staring blankly out the window. What the h— 'Logan, what the hell are you doing here?'

It was the middle of the night, for crying out loud.

He turned slowly to face her. 'Marie.' Yes, that was her name.

'Logan, why aren't you in bed?' He didn't move. Was he drunk? She padded out of bed. 'Logan?' she queried, approaching him cautiously.

'I'm sorry, Marie.' He looked almost beseeching, must be totally out of it.

She sighed tiredly. 'Do you really want to do this now?' He blinked at her. 'Can't we sleep first?' She grabbed an elbow, pulled. 'Come on, Logan. Bedtime.' And he cooperated, stood up, which was just as well because she couldn't lift him. But he hovered there, indecisively, and when she looked up, she saw how alert he was, noticed he didn't smell of alcohol. His eyes were searching.

'Marie?' he asked, questioned really.

She was too tired to have any answers, either, especially when she didn't know the question. 'I'm tired. Let's just go to bed,' she tried, and when he made no move, she pushed him down into the bed, grumbling a little. She closed her eyes, but she could feel how tensely he lay, heard him catch a breath to say something. 'Shut up and go to sleep, Logan,' she commanded. He stilled, his back strung like a bow. So she flung an arm over him, pressed her forehead against his rigid back, and sighed, 'Relax. Ok? Sleep.'

The morning sun woke her, brighter on this side of the building, and she squinted irritably out of one eye. She couldn't tell if Logan was awake, but when she inhaled and sat up, he turned, too, and rose to face her. OK, then, so the serious talk was now, this minute.

'Mornin'.' She felt like it was an improvement over 'hey', and she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes with a rough palm.

He was studying her again, and she debated whether to tell him how much that pissed her off; except that today, the expression was more like, do-you-know?—I-don't. So it didn't seem like a good time.

'Well, so…' she began brilliantly. At least, he must have thought so; an almost…expectant expression crossing his face, and it looked like Logan was now thinking that she would make this right, or whatever, and that was brilliant because she didn't even know what it was about.

What precisely had happened anyway? Could she just ask that? Logan, what were you doing in my room last night? Why are you mad at me, studying me all the time? Logan, what do you want from me?

Should it be an apology? Sorry for yelling, sorry for being gone running, sorry for trying to talk to you when you're not ready. What?

She had no idea, so she decided to start at the very beginning, and just announced, all in one breath : 'I'm-not-breaking-up-with-you, if you're-not-breaking-up-with-me.'

Bit passive-aggressive, bit high school, maybe. But, you know, it was really what she wanted to know.

If he had no idea what to say before, he was without words now. He was floored, and not in a good way. So…not breaking up with her? Horrified she had guessed? Reeling from her phenomenal psychic powers? Yeah, in any case….Floored.

She gave him a moment, grew impatient, 'Are you breaking up with me?'

'No-o,' he tore out, sounding scratchy, sounding horrified, his eyebrows raised crazily, giving him a ghoulish expression.

'Good,' she asserted. Good. She could even smile a little now, though he still looked grey. 'Just to establish, you know, big things outta the way,' she tried to reassure him in the growing silence. And when that didn't work, 'Hey, after that, everything will seem really petty.' No response.

Ok, then…maybe she could try her side? 'So, um, I guess…I apologize for last night, for trying to force you to talk when you just wanted your space.' She swallowed, he stared. 'I understand that. That's what my runs are to me; and so I'm also hoping that you will also understand. That.'

His crazy eyebrows were gone, but he didn't look like the picture of reconciliation. 'Oh! And I'm sorry I yelled. At you, yesterday.' She was running out of ideas, and now he was scanning her face blankly as he had last night.

'Logan?' she questioned, grimly. 'Logan, come on. Give me something here.' No time for tender feelings. She grabbed his shoulders, gave him a shake.

He grasped her hands as they fell away, frowned, and grated, 'I don't want to break up with you.'

She bit her lip. 'Ok, sugar, we've covered that.' He didn't answer, just focused on her intensely some more. 'Logan, was there anything else?'

He shook his head once, spoke decisively, clipped, 'No.' Bullsh--!

Ok, ok, so that was how that last little scene in the garden had played out.

She forced herself to say gently, 'If that's so, why are you acting like this? What's going on?'

He leaned towards her slowly, and she wondered, perplexed, if he was going to…whisper something—Logan?—but he leaned past her face, hooked his chin over her shoulder and curled an arm around her back, and they were hugging, awkwardly hugging due to their positions on the bed. She had to admit she was just as baffled by that.

She rubbed his back after a moment, prodded him softly, and his voice was soft, low, 'You weren't there. You went back to your room.'

'It was ok,' she explained. Whatever, she was going for soothing. 'I thought you needed some space.'

He whined, almost petulantly, 'I don't want space.'

She chortled, at the tone, the words, and, injured, his hands fell away. And she regarded his closed expression, affectionately stroking his arm. 'Logan,' she admonished gently. 'You want tons of space.'

'No,' he contradicted, gruffly, 'I—'

'Oh-ho, let me count the ways,' she sang, keeping track with her fingers. 'There was the time, personal favorite of mine, when you told me to 'get lost before you made me that way'. What does that even mean, anyway?'

'You were sixteen—and bratty—'

'And the time that you told Bobby that if he wanted to keep all his limbs, he shouldn't even think about stepping into the t.v. lounge.'

'I was drunk,' he admitted sheepishly.

'Let's see. Just this past year, you informed a group of ditzy girls and some callow boys to fuck off, you weren't Cyc, stalk someone else already; or better yet go fuckin' study, you—wait, let me get this right—you failing-whining-pansy-ass kids.'

'They were failing.'

'Not to mention—how many years was it?—of biking, drifting, alone on the road.' She cocked her head at him, grinned. 'You do like your own space, Logan.' He looked chastened, played with one of her fingers. 'It's not a bad thing. It's just…'—he looked up—'you.' She shrugged, smiled.

'I—' he cleared his throat, his expression a little closed, his voice gruff, 'I don't mind sharing my space with you.'

'Aww,' she couldn't help crooning, because really, that was the sweetest thing, and pressing a couple of kisses to his impassive face, and he raised a hand to brush her hair back, toy with the white lock as he did occasionally. 'So,' she sought confirmation, 'I should, if it happens again, sleep in your room anyway?'

He cupped her head, and was studying her again, in that controlled way. 'You should move in, now that Scott's here.'

She was puzzled by his reasoning, by his carefully assumed expression. 'What does Scott have to do with it?'

'He's here. You shouldn't take up another room,' he explained, in rather a pedantic tone, and his hand gripped her shoulder now.

She pried, inquisitive, 'But there are plenty of rooms. This is a dormitory.'

'Scott needs a room—'

'Scott's room is still waiting for him.' It had stood empty all these months. He wasn't making any sense.

'I want you to move in with me.' Oh.

Well, she was dense, and she studied him back, his determined air, his unreadable expression.

'Are you sure?' she asked doubtfully. 'You don't like my clothes on the floor, my bathrobe on the door, my towels, my three towels, who needs three towels?' She grinned slyly at him. 'And do you remember that first night with my beauty products? I thought you were going to pitch a fit.' She doubled over, laughing, as he scowled.

'I want you to move in with me,' he said with more conviction, more antagonism.

She wanted him to think about this. 'Logan, you're asking me to move more stuff into your room,' she gestured with her hands, because either she was missing something, or he was. 'The rooms are small enough already. Why would you voluntarily make 'em smaller?'

He eyed her intensely, stonily.

'What if I promise to always sleep in your room,' she wheedled, 'and use my room as a kind of closet/storage area?'

'No.' Mulish.

'You're not being reasonable,' she complained, flopping back onto the bed.

He leaned over stealthily, rumbled low, 'I don't have to be reasonable.' He pressed a soft kiss to her neck. 'I'm the Wolverine.'

She giggled up at him, but she was blushing a little. 'That is the cheesiest, most ridiculous argument I have ever heard.'

He trailed kisses down her throat, poked apart her shirt a little, but didn't unbutton it. 'Yeah,' he growled, 'but is it working?'

'I don't know,' she teased. 'I guess we'll have to find out.'

And then he was popping open her shirt with an experienced finger, tracing the skin. Her bra was taken off during a brief, wet, kiss; she hummed into it, and he pushed her shirt over her shoulders, her arms. And then he was latching her hands with his and holding them over her head one-handed, while he stroked down her arms, her ribs, the dip of her stomach with the other.

He leaned over her, tweaked a nipple, and sucked and kneaded. 'God, Logan,' she breathed encouragingly. 'Don't stop!' she protested, as he raised his head, stroked a possessive hand down her stomach.

'Now?' He held her hands in a tighter clasp, rubbed a thumb over her nipple again.

'Ok, fine, fine!' she panted. 'But you don't get to complain about my stuff anymore.'

And she arched up for a heated kiss, made him finish what he'd started.


	9. Getting

**IX: GETTING**

She didn't realize until later that he'd never actually said what was bothering him before—that night, that day, even before he discovered she was sleeping in her own room. But he dropped the watching, and he was no longer smoking, and he didn't object to her morning runs. So, she guessed it was ok?

She moved in with him, and it was every bit as cramped as Rogue had feared. No room for her clothes, her books, her things, and when they'd hefted the third load in and had to leap over things to get to the door, she'd given Logan an old-fashioned look.

But Logan was pleased, stopped in the middle to 'christen' the room, and she'd had to interrupt him and tell him that 'christen' was one of the least sexy euphemisms for sex she'd ever heard, and then he, nipping her in retaliation, had come up with a whole host of phrases he could have used, like 'poppin' 'n 'lockin'' and 'ridin' the jimmy bean' and 'the one gun salute', and through the laughter and the nuzzling kisses and nips, she'd been seduced. And it had been surprisingly tender, considering the multiple references to Logan's 'jimmy bean'.

Apart from that, everyone was preparing for the school year. Scott was back as full-time faculty member, taking the senior gym class, Ororo's two math classes, and a physics course from Hank. Scott gave everyone a little extra breathing room, so everyone was pretty good-natured and cheerful. And talking to her again.

Scott himself was just busy. He didn't have his old neurotic energy, and seemed to move a little ponderously. But he was sharp, and he was decisive, and he was catching up quickly.

Rogue was helping him out quite a bit, as the 'floating fellow'. The online courses didn't start for a few more weeks, and she was the only fellow who hadn't been assigned to someone already. So it only made sense.

She told Logan so, in a hard, determined tone, and he'd blown in her ear in that way that startled and aroused her, then covered her mouth with his, and they hadn't discussed it since.

No one else thought it a problem. She was in the office (helping with the admin stuff she'd become familiar with last year), and faculty, fellows, recruits would chat while she found them a form: 'Logan and Scott are getting along so well.'; 'So great to see the rivalry has ended.' Was it, though? Was she the only one with eyes, or was she reading too much into this?

Because she didn't think it was over, precisely. More in abeyance. Logan was stiff, arrogant, very lord-of-the-manor; Scott was laconic, dry, superior. It might have been funny, if she hadn't been in the middle.

The first quibble, and it wasn't more than that, was actually hers. Logan had dumped the gym lesson plans on her lap, sneered to give it to 'Scotty', and she'd had to remind him about how this had played out once before. 'Logan!' she called sharply, pointedly.

He swiveled back round.

'Logan, we talked about this before,' she wagged the file at him meaningfully.

'Oh, sorry, darlin',' he'd husked, swaggering back and leaning in to kiss her. And his hand snuck over to second base.

'Logan!' she whacked him with the lesson plans. 'We're in an office, and that's not the point.'

He'd chuckled, winked, sauntered out with a whistle. What the hell? Her hands were still raised in exasperation, and she made an impotent noise of irritation.

Scott poked his head out of the office next door. 'Does he usually behave like that?'

She chuckled a bit in mortification, waved him off, pretended she wasn't red. 'He has his moments,' she observed sardonically. Don't we all.

'Hmm,' Scott mused, stepping forward, hands in pockets, staring in the direction Logan had gone. She shifted in her seat uncomfortably.

She didn't know that—scratch that—she did know she did not want to discuss her relationship with Logan with Scott. So she pasted on a placating smile and busied herself with more typing.

Scott approached her at her desk, and Rogue ignored him for several long minutes, but she was mistyping a growing number of words, when Scott sighed, observed, 'Logan can be…'

'He was behaving like a dumb ass,' Rogue charged, surprising a crack of laughter from him. She put her head down, typed some more. 'I'll get him back later,' she continued absently. And Scott took the hint and left.

And she did get Logan back later (it was rather fun, actually), and, after trying the innocent routine, he did promise not to do it again, or at least to try. And that would have been the end of it. But the next day she needed Scott, had tracked him down to the fitness area, where Scott and Logan were cocked towards each other with the lesson plans for gym before them.

'Why were you doing that?' Scott questioned narrowly.

'Teaches 'em how to fight people who aren't afraid to get dirty,' Logan returned meaningfully.

'Yes, but are they more likely to need that or an overall knowledge of fitness?' Scott prevaricated, his tone pedantic.

'Your students have had to know a hell of a lot more in the past,' Logan volleyed back.

And Scott clamped the plans shut with a snap, and both men sized each other up, and Rogue tripped over, seizing the opportunity.

'Scott, sorry to interrupt, but I need to know whether these need to go out today,' and she thrust a pile of letters at him. She smiled reflexively at an unresponsive Logan. Scott rifled through the papers, commented on a few. 'And sign these, please, so I can mail them,' she indicated.

Logan was rocking back on his heels, arms folded as this went on, but he observed indolently, 'You should ask Rogue about some of those lesson plans. She wrote some of them herself.'

Scott glanced up, flipped papers absently. 'Yes, I can see she's very talented.'

'She could teach the class,' Logan asserted.

'Guys,' she waved a hand in front of them.

'I understand that's why she's taking courses this fall,' Scott returned evenly, his pen pausing, and Rogue tried to call attention to it.

'Too bad she'll be too busy to help you then,' Logan commented.

'We'll see,' Scott smirked. 'I'm going to need some help during the year, and I think I'd be quite happy with Rogue.'

Logan swelled at that, leered blackly.

'Guys,' she inserted harshly, shoving Logan firmly back a step, planting herself between them, turning to Scott. 'Wait until I leave, alright. Scott, hurry up and sign.'

He did so, stopping to glower at Logan as he did so, and Rogue had to slap the papers, bark his name to get him to pay attention. When Scott was done, he handed the pen back to her indolently, a look of challenge aimed over her head; she was glad she had her back to Logan.

'God, boys, get over it,' she tossed darkly as she left.

Of course, that was not the end of that.

Because the reality was she hadn't been assigned as anyone's fellow, and Scott now had need of one.

And Scott pointed this out, reasonably, in faculty meetings. And Rogue was informed that she'd been assigned. That was what she knew. That and the look on Logan's face when she'd been informed.

So her first thought was whether she could get out of this. Logan would have been happy to trade her out with Trey, back after spending the summer with his folks; even Trey would have been happy with that arrangement, but—no one wanted Trey.

Rogue asked Jubilee if she would be willing to switch positions, but Jubilee liked her job, handling calls and dealing with publicity for Xavier. He'd done a series of interviews over the summer (had barely been at the school, actually), and now that the school year was starting, a number of them wanted the 'mutant-back-to-school' exclusive. 'Shit outta luck, chica,' she commiserated. 'Besides, if we switched, how would the rest of us get our entertainment?' And Rogue chuckled hollowly.

Kitty was working with Storm, and that had seemed like a good match from the start. So she wasn't really surprised, just disappointed, when Storm told her that this was Scott and Logan's problem, not hers. That they'd eventually get over it.

And it wasn't even that she didn't doubt that. She'd been expecting a little friction; she just didn't want to be involved. And being Scott's fellow meant she was involved. And it was all day, too. She was with either Scott or Logan all day. She felt like the rope in the tug of war—not really the object of contention, just the handy scorecard.

When Logan wasn't there, she actually enjoyed working with Scott, more than she enjoyed working with Logan, actually. He had a sense of humor. He was witty. He was appreciative, never forgot to ask. It didn't ever make her feel uncomfortable or put upon or resentful to take orders from him. It was just plain easier to work for someone you weren't also sleeping with.

And when Logan let himself forget Scott, she enjoyed being with him, too. He was growing more affectionate, more demonstrative. In public, too, actually, though that could feel calculated and possessive, but he was sweeter, easier to tease, easier to read.

But it was goddamn awful if they ran into each other during the day. If Logan walked in when Rogue was there, Scott would spend the rest of the day making assy, pompous comments about him, expecting her to agree. If Logan spied Scott, at lunch or in the hallway, he'd pick a fight with her or pepper her with questions about—well, nothing. And then he'd apologize at the point when she began to snipe at him (he seemed to notice anger at about the time curse words made an appearance), and he'd want to make it better with sex, and…unfortunately, that was usually effective.

She spent her days engineering ways to keep the two of them apart; maybe a 50 success rate.

She was glad she had online courses now. The classes she was taking, and there were only three, were intro, not difficult at all, but she spent a lot of time in the library 'working' on them. It was actually the most she'd ever studied for anything in her life.

She told Scott to shove it first.

They were in the office, and he was glancing down at a list of items left on the agenda, dictating to her, and Logan breezed in, ignored Scott, flagged her down with a wave: 'This evening. Drop by at 5:00. Need your help,' and left.

She nodded wordlessly, shrugged it off, because yeah, Logan could be brusque, but that was Logan, and it did no good to get upset about it, not when he didn't do it to hurt. And it wasn't a big deal, but, goddamn, she didn't like Scott seeing, and she focused with a sliver of hope, more dread, on her blinking cursor and hoped this wouldn't be a thing.

Silence. She finally turned, found Scott with a moue of distaste, and his nostrils flaring. 'Considerate, isn't he?'

Her eyes drifted closed for a second, but she gritted her teeth, read the last item on the list again, with a questioning prod. He didn't respond, and she twisted to look at him.

Scott was shaking his head, a twisted and dubious expression on his face, and he continued, arms folded prissily, 'I don't know how you can—'

'Scott,' she told him, and his name was ringing with warning and something else. 'SHUT IT.' He was shocked into baffled silence. 'Stop. Stop putting him down in front of me.'

He looked chagrined, said pleadingly, 'Rogue—'

'No,' she continued firmly, 'I'm with Logan right now, Scott. And you're not thinking about what it's like for me to hear this every day.'

His expression was arrested for that split second, and then he copped to what she had suspected all along. 'I just don't think he's good enough for you,' he said, hands gesturing in supplication. Yeah, and that was completely none of his business.

'Logan's faults are well-documented,' she reproved, and she paused with a bit of a bite, 'As are yours.'

He had the decency to blush, and she figured she had pushed enough. 'You two have a thing, fine, but don't put me in the middle. I see both of you, at your best and worst.' She turned back to the computer. 'When you're together, at your worst.'

She made herself focus on the list again, rattled off the last item, and she was met by more silence, but she was damned if she was turning around to discuss this more.

'I'm sorry, Rogue,' she heard low, and it did sound heartfelt, and two people were at fault here. Alright, three. She should have done this before.

'I like working for both of you, like both of you,' she admitted, contemplating the keyboard. 'But you could both make it easier on me.'

Another pause. 'Agreed,' was the quiet reply, so she turned and aimed a small smile at him. And he was better after that.

And, because Scott made the effort, Logan was actually better, too, and Rogue enjoyed a few weeks of healthy antagonism and needless male posturing without the darker side effects.

The idyll was broken, actually, by something she had thought would improve relations. One night, Logan was griping good-naturedly about some of the asswipe kids in his class, complaining about how they'd forgotten everything he'd taught them last year. And she was laughing while washing her face, putting on her lotion at the counter.

And he sidled up behind her, grabbed her hips. 'You know,' he grinned rakishly at her in the mirror, 'I could really use someone to help me run the other station.' And he nudged her playfully.

'Logan,' she teased gently. 'Are you asking me for something?' She raised an arch eyebrow.

'How much time ya have, darlin'?' and his expression was serious, assessing, in the mirror.

And because it was, the smile on her face was more serious, too. She returned softly, 'I probably have time enough for one class.'

'Yeah?' he asked uncertainly, nuzzling her neck; then, teasingly again, nosing behind a ticklish ear, 'What about two?'

She laughed, turning in his arms and putting her arms round his neck, settling into him comfortably, 'One. Let's see how much time I have after my first midterms.'

He ran a hand up her back the way she liked, cupped her head. 'Good,' he whispered, pressing a kiss lightly to the corner of her mouth.

'Yeah,' she breathed back, and stood up on tiptoe, kissed him this time.

And—anyway—Rogue had thought it a good thing: that Logan had asked and so sweetly, that she'd help him as well as Scott during the day, that they go back to a setting that had worked well in the past, positive time outside the bedroom, all that. And maybe Scott would take his antagonistic asshat off and see that Logan could be a good guy, too.

Foolish, naïve thoughts. Because she had to change her work hours around to fit in Logan's class, and Scott disapproved and was a bit put-out by the 'why' of it. And unfortunately, the schedule was such that she worked for Scott right before and right after Logan's class. And she should have known that couldn't last.

Because she couldn't win, whether she left on-time, showed up late or early; there was this look from both men, every time, like, 'Fine, sure, go to him,' and then an answering look from the other on arrival, like, 'So you deigned to show up, eh?' Get a LIFE, you two! Driving her nuts.

But, and maybe she was hopelessly optimistic, but she'd hoped that they'd all let it slide. Then one day she and Scott got a bit behind and were working overtime into the early evening, and Logan had come searching for her, on a bit of short fuse, and found them together.

And Scott was joking lightly at the end of a long day, stupid puns about paperwork, and Rogue was chuckling robustly in the way you do when you're tired but nearly done and…

'What the fuck are you doing?' Logan exploded, and it spewed out to encompass both of them. Sapped the laughter right out of the room. And she was really going to have to talk to him about using obscenities as greetings; this was a school.

'Logan,' she held out a warning hand. 'We were just finishing up, ran a bit late today.'

Scott stepped out from behind her, a ready stance, but remained silent, and she surreptitiously swept a guarding hand in front of him. She didn't need him involved.

But Logan wouldn't leave him out of it, was advancing to Scott with incrimination, with antagonism. 'You don't get to monopolize her time. She's a student. She has a life.'

'Logan,' she warned low, hoping to get him to look at her, and she pushed against his chest, a futile effort, as he drew closer.

But Scott wasn't having it, either. 'Says the man who has her working a class he is more than capable of running by himself,' Scott replied coldly.

Logan snarled, swiped a hand and shoved Rogue out of the way. 'You don't know anything about it.'

'I know how you treat her,' Scott raised his voice. 'I've got eyes.'

'Scott,' she shouted, offended by the tenor of this conversation, and she stomped round Logan again and approached them from the side, facing Logan still, trying to enter his consciousness.

'That's none of your FUCKING business,' Logan snarled. 'I'm with her, not you.' Guess that attempt failed.

'You treat her like she's one of your TRAINEES,' Scott sneered, and she saw Logan's fist curl back, saw Scott brace himself. Fuckfuckfuck, she was rapidly losing control of this situation.

'SCOTT,' she tried, putting out an arm. No luck there, still glaring at Logan for all he was worth. In a lower tone, 'Logan.' Ignoring her, too.

Fine, then, she was getting out of this. She backed off, stomped off, trembled as the door slammed behind her, and they weren't even aware of her leaving.

She was fuming, more upset the more she thought about it. It was settling into a hard, cold pit of anger in her stomach, and no, part of that wasn't anxiety or dread.

How dare they? How dare they bring her into this, make it about her? Because this was a fight from a year ago, from three years ago. Jean was dead, they'd all moved on. It was different. Get OVER it!

How was she supposed to do this? She didn't need this. She could live a normal life. God DAMN it, X-men be damned! She wouldn't do this, not if she was always going to be in the middle, the source of friction, second best.

She wanted this resolved. She wanted this over. She wanted—

Logan slunk in, dragged himself in just as she was rejecting a sandwich for her dinner.

'So was it another dirty fight?' she demanded, a touch of scorn coloring the words. He skirted round her, swiped her sandwich. She eyed him as he chewed. 'What did you do to him?'

'To him!' he asked, slamming a hand down on the table, and it was clear he was angry too. Still, evidently. Yes, they were going to fight.

'You're walking. You've got a healing factor. How is he?' she asked fiercely.

He ripped off another bite, mumbled something into his sandwich.

'What?' she asked sharply.

'We really didn't get that far,' he repeated, clearly but cantankerously, and in his eyes she could see that spark, that flash. He was really upset. But he didn't know how to handle it.

Well, neither did she. 'What does that mean?'

He jerked a shoulder, might have been a shrug at another time. 'The office. Xavier,' he grunted.

She could feel herself trembling a little bit, couldn't stop. 'Xavier stopped you,' and she was shaking her head in such irritation, such weariness. Why, why couldn't this be over already?

She stood, and he shoved back the sandwich, stood up, too, and she was making him angrier, but she couldn't care. 'What is this, Logan?' she reamed, waving her hands about wildly. 'The leftover battle? Jean, Part II?'

'No,' he grated out, rough and cracking with emotion. He was suddenly pacing smartly back-and-forth, as though confined, stir-crazy, perhaps plum-crazy. 'This time it's about you. Scott and you.' Flared nostrils, wild eyes.

Wh--? Oh, for heaven's sakes! For fuck's sake!

'He's not interested in me, Logan,' she informed him flatly. This was ridiculous. 'He's never done anything that's indicated otherwise.'

He looked at her like she might be nuts, thrust a finger in her face. 'Yet. He hasn't done it yet.'

'Oh, come on! What—it's some plan? Coming back after all this time to see if you'd hooked up with anyone, just to lure them away?'

'Not a plan, no,' Logan rasped. 'You're attractive. It's enough.'

'Flattering as I find that, sugar,' Rogue replied witheringly, shook her head, disgusted and done and feeling the tingle that was anger, too. 'You are the one who is not getting over it, over you and Scott and Jean.'

'I'm over it,' he snarled, pacing even faster, flashing her sidelong dirty looks.

'Yeah, you really look it.'

'I. Am. OVER IT!' he ROARed, nose-to-nose with her, and they remained frozen and eyeing each other with twin expressions of resentment and lurid anger.

'If you were,' Rogue spoke tautly, so low it barely registered, 'you wouldn't be upset even if Scott were interested in me.'

His eyes flared, his teeth bared. 'FUCK THAT, Marie,' he slapped her hand away, spun away. 'You don't get to fucking tell me how upset to be when someone hits on you!' His face, when he turned back, was twisted and bitter. 'Not when you're not doing the First FUCKing thing to stop it!'

God damn it, Rogue had never felt so full of impotent rage before, and she was squeezing her hands into fists so tightly that her hands were shaking. How dare he blame this on her! 'What the hell are you accusing me of?'

'You LIKE it,' he hissed, pacing, but leaning in belligerently at every pass. 'You like it when he flirts with you.' And he was rubbing his knuckles, and his pacing was frenetic now.

'You think I'm interested in Scott?' she aimed at him challengingly, trying to get a read on his face as he zipped back and forth past her.

He muttered something she didn't catch, and she saw his hard frown, the one that said he was stubbornly not listening anymore, cross his face.

Rogue grabbed an arm as he made a pass, and he was able to shake her off easily. She pursued. 'Do you really think that I would be interested in Scott?' she repeated, incredulous and irate and indignant now.

He made an agitated swiping motion, drew himself up. 'YOU told me,' he bellowed, and his eyes were fierce, and his gestures wild. 'You said before—he got two things. Well, I didn't have Jean, and I don't get the school.'

His gaze narrowed, pinning her to the floor. 'I get you.'

Her mouth dropped open, nearly laughed inappropriately. 'Get me?' she choked out.

'I picked you up. I found you first,' he insisted, stepping closer, towering over. 'I get one thing. Mine.' His fingers curled slowly round her shoulders. 'I get you.'

'I—I,' she spluttered, stumbling back a step, afraid to let him see. What a—complete rewriting of history there! 'Look, I'm—I'm not interested in Scott!' She didn't know how she'd pushed him so far.

'Fuck Scott.' Well—ok, then, she was out of ideas. Advancing on her.

'So y-you…get me?' The word stuck in her throat. 'That's what this is!' Being backed up in a corner, bumping into the wall, Logan right there.

'Yeah,' he rumbled, curled hands in her hair. 'That's what this is.'

And maybe she had a problem with that, with being 'got', his thing, his fucking substitute Jean. But…

'Marie,' he commanded, but softer now, light hand at her hip, gentle one in her hair. His eyes were gentle now. He wanted her to agree.

And, this close and in spite of everything…this close, she could see. That 'got' was not proximity, or convenience. Not pity. Not just a good fuck. And not a mistake, a lesson, leftover from when she'd angered him so much.

She'd kept herself from asking—and it was more than she thought she'd get…

'Marie?' he insisted, a little nervily this time. He'd stepped back, too, taut and tense, but she caught the flash beneath—doubt. Want. Need? Maybe he needed her to agree.

And…maybe it wasn't p.c. or empowered, not perfectly everything. Not the answer—for them or for this fight. But she'd take it—what she wanted, what he needed. She'd take what she could get.

So…step forward, light hand on his panting chest.

'O-ok,' she agreed, and she could feel the coil in him, the heat of him, the beat of his heart beneath her palm. 'Ok,' she declared, because she was pretty sure they were about to have raw, hot, needy sex, and it was what she wanted, too.

'Ok,' she breathed as he slowly lowered his head, then slammed it down to hers, hauling her hips and arms and tangled legs flush into him.

It was more than ok. Would be. Scott, the X-men, the school…everything—whatever. Logan—she could take it, take him. Because if he got her…she'd make sure was getting him, too.

End to prequel.


	10. Epilogue

Getting There Epilogue

_A/N: A highly unnecessary epilogue to Getting There, because sometimes we need more smut! heh. And L&M were being so cute. Who can resist?:D_

_It is the morning after... _

She woke up to his hands on her, which she would take any day over just his eyes. Mmm. Tracing, featherlight over her neck, cupped around her breasts, then lightly over her overused nipples. She inhaled a little—they were sore—and his hands moved lower, up and over her stomach, her hips, paused a little over the light bruises there.

She cracked open an eye. He had just touched her neck a little, where he'd bit her last night. It was solemn—too solemn.

'I marked you,' he noted, eyes dark. His thumb pressed gently to her lower lip, slightly swollen.

She didn't quite know how he meant it. 'It's ok.' They were speaking in undertones, semi-whispers—strange morning hush—and she moistened her lips. She wished she trusted the stillness in him this morning.

'I'll heal it.' Decision made, brooking no refusals, and his hand curled round her neck to cup her more firmly.

'No,' she shook out of sleepiness. She didn't want that. 'It doesn't hurt. It's ok.'

His eyes were unfathomable, but he measured her for a second, ran a firmer hand over her, and she found it did hurt. Especially when she moved. But she was beginning to react to his touch, too, arched up a little, found his wandering hand and laced it with hers to tug him closer.

He hovered above her, and the anticipation of pressing into him, skin-to-skin was enough at that moment. She licked her lips, and she saw how his gaze was drawn there.

'Turn it on,' he said low. She was disturbed by the intensity of it because it was a bit too hard. She wanted him to look at her, and she ran her fingers along his jaw, tangled and tugged, and he did, his eyes narrowing on hers.

'It's ok,' she repeated with some emphasis, slight caress. He didn't react, didn't move, and she was…somewhat uncomfortable bringing it up—didn't want him to misread, was afraid she might say something that would ruin it. 'I—I want to touch you.' She halted. 'Last time, it was a few hours before…I don't want to waste this.'

There was a shift, though neither of them moved for a minute, and he frowned, ever so slightly, weighed her up again—distant again—so she found his hand, whispered, 'It's ok,' again, kissed his fingers, lightly bit his thumb.

She felt the hitch of his breath, and his mouth firmed. He ducked his head to the mark on her neck, pressed and kissed, sucked. She moaned faintly.

And then she was scooped up, being carried into the bathroom, and she allowed herself to relax into the hollow of his shoulder. It was too early to really deal with whatever strangeness came after yesterday, and she was sure that would all still be there when she decided she was going to wake up for real. For now, Logan seemed to have dropped the strange stillness, the healing thing, and was generally just warm and hairy and this crook of his shoulder smelled very nice. Which she may or may not have said out loud. Heh.

'Shut up,' he said, sounding gentle and tired.

'Mmmm,' she smiled inarticulately into his skin. He was very cute when he was annoyed. She was vaguely aware of him sitting down, maneuvering something one-handed with a bit of muttering. Mmm...so masterful, she was sure he could figure things out by himself. She could feel herself drifting off again...

'Hey…' He sounded serious but less intense this time. Their heads were close, she in his lap, but he didn't meet her gaze, instead gesturing over her shoulder with his chin. She blinked and turned and saw bubbles.

'You drew me a bath?' she smiled sleepily.

'Get in.'

The water was just right. She sank in and was even more surprised when he slipped in too. And it felt so good, the bath, the bubbles, Logan breathing behind. She leaned back against him, enjoyed the absent tangle of their legs. Heaven. And it was helping the ache.

'Thank you,' she breathed, and his arms came round her, cupped her breasts gently instead of possessively now, meant to soothe, and she sighed. God, she could get used to this. They should wake up like this every morning…

Wait—morning?! She bolted up. Class. School. Kids. What time was it? They hadn't set an alarm!

Logan's arms banded painfully round her at the spontaneous thrashing until she flopped back against him, just as quickly remembering. 'Saturday,' she breathed, closing her eyes. His grip loosened a tad, and she chuckled wryly at her still-slow brain. Call it hardwiring. 'We should always fight on a Friday.'

Maybe he didn't see the joke. He certainly didn't loosen up any. 'Lay down,' he pressed, which she already was, but she obligingly settled deeper into the disappearing bubbles, covering his arm with hers, and eventually, the tension left him, too. Trust bubble baths to do that.

The water grew a little tepid, and she realized they must have been in there for quite some time. Logan must be bored by now, hungry, too. Come to think of it, so was she. But she felt relaxed now and awake and…cared for. Logan didn't normally do baths.

She twisted round in his arms, slid down a little, peered up at him, his expression smooth and easier, maybe somewhat guarded.

'Guess we'll have to leave at some point, huh?' She wagged pruny fingers at him playfully, gauging his mood. But something about just him and his dubious eyeing of her fingers, the bubbles and the bath and last night and just…him, and she was smiling for no reason, and after a second, his grin deepened, too. He reached out to finger her throat, began to play with her hair—half-wet, and she was half-submerged, but she'd never felt more beautiful.

But she did feel that they needed to have this conversation at some point. She didn't just mean they'd have to leave the bath. She rested her head on his knee. Distractions, distractions. 'So—what happens then?' She persisted, bobbing slightly. 'When we have to go outside, leave our room. Go back to regular work again.'

She'd known that his smile would leave, but she hadn't expected the sudden scowl, splash, yank.

'I said you're MINE,' he growled, grabbing her by the neck, pulling her forward roughly. Water sloshed over the side.

She wrapped her legs around him for a little leverage, braced herself with hands on his shoulders, and he was eyeing her with a menacing expression. Maybe the one he'd been storing up all morning.

'You're jealous,' she blinked stupidly, and at his aggravated growl, 'I mean, still.' She hadn't known how knee-jerk that would be, even after last night—found it a little endearing, this instant jealousy, but knew that endearing would not survive endless repetition. Better clear this up now. She still had to work with Scott. They both did.

'Well, I'm certainly not Scott's,' she declared. He huffed a little, brows still forbidding, and she chuckled, puzzled at how little he got it. She bent down to his ear, bit the lobe lightly. Breathy voice—only slightly exaggerated: 'Who could even look at Scott when Wolverine is in the room?' Satisfying to hear his little groan, to feel his hands clutching, his hard length thickening against her as she rubbed up against him.

She laughed and pulled back to find that hard glint in his eye. 'Keep going,' he spoke a little grudgingly, and she froze uncertainly for a second, somewhat surprised he needed convincing—still—and not entirely sure how much further she could go. But on the other hand, he was so very cute.

'Well…who but the Wolverine could have this hair?' She buried her nose in it, luxuriating in its softness, springiness between her fingers. Shivered as his hands twined round her back. 'This manly, untamed, virile, bristly hair.'

She was pinched—hey!—and she squealed, and so, ok, maybe that had been a bit overdone, but she was only half-kidding. She bent with a smile and continued, 'This fierce chin—' scraped her teeth over it lightly, licked and enjoyed the rasp of stubble—'sculpted jaw.' She allowed the word 'muttonchops' to be swallowed by beard. She'd always loved the sound of it.

He groaned: arousal or corniness? Probably both, and she was sniggering softly, as she moved down, letting her hands wander self-consciously over water-flecked shoulders and slippery arms.

'How could Scott compete with this rugged physique? These rippling pecs, these bulging biceps—' Rubbing them down and over as they did ripple and bulge. 'Oh, yeah, I like that, sugar,' she encouraged. And he had looked something between chagrined and embarrassed, but now he looked surprised. 'I've always liked that,' she confessed, and his eyes darkened, she had to look way.

'A-and these abs…' She had run out of superlatives. She wasn't good at this kind of talk in any case. And there was something mesmerizing about her hands streaking drops against his skin, beading with sweat, the drop's eager fall at his twitching and irregular breaths. From such light touches. She trailed down his sides and wandered further. 'Such long legs…' He squeezed her buttocks in reaction, and her breath caught.

He looked darkly self-satisfied in a way that made her crack a smile.

She laced his fingers with hers and squeezed, too. 'These hands.' She knew the skin between his knuckles was sensitive, began slow tracing in and out, watching sharp pleasure overcome his remaining wariness.

'Marie…'

'And this.' She dipped her hand into still-warm water and wrapped around him firmly. 'How could Scott possibly compete with this?'

A wicked smile she couldn't help peeped out.

'You can definitely take him, sugar.'

He growled, bucked his hips a little; she felt the brush and heat of him.

'And even when you're not there…you know I'm always thinking of you,' she breathed, getting more turned on just thinking about it.

'Darlin',' he groaned, cupping her breast, and she tilted her hips forward, sought him at her entrance, eyes closed as she slid down on him, enveloped him.

'So it'll be ok,' she continued shakily, beginning to move on him, 'When we leave the room. And on Monday—on-on Tuesday…' He nipped at the curve of her breast, caused her to gasp. He leered, quick lick to the nipple, and she shuddered.

''Cause I get you,' he pressed her forward.

He held her hips, held her still until she answered. Just deep dark eyes. 'You got me,' she agreed.

And they might need another bath after this—would definitely need more water, but it'd be worth it.

She rested her head limply on his shoulder. It was still a good spot.

'But not yet. We don't' leave the room yet,' he pursued tiredly, but the former weightiness was gone. 'It's only Saturday.'

She smiled. 'Good plan, sugar.'


End file.
